


And the Only Solution was to Stand and Fight

by secondstar



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, Dark, Domestic Violence, Dubious Consent, Emotional Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:25:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondstar/pseuds/secondstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles couldn't remember a time when he didn't have to hide bruises. That was a lie, though. He could remember, he just chose not to think about what life was like when his father was still alive. There was no use in living in the past, even though his life was a living hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I need to start off by saying that this fic is dark. It has dark themes, which I do not hold back on writing about. Fair warning and all that. 
> 
> This is an AU in which the Hale's are alive, that Sheriff Stilinski is dead, and Stiles' mother is alive, and Scott is not a werewolf (you know, since the Hale's are alive...)
> 
> Beta'd by lsdme. 
> 
> This is being written because my best friend, quidditchkiss@lj
> 
> date: please do not REPOST this fic anywhere else without my consent. Please do not put it on GoodReads that is a site for PUBLISHED works, not fic.
> 
> Addition:
> 
> This fic is tagged as dubcon. Dubious Consent between Derek and Stiles because Stiles is an abused minor and Derek is an adult. This is your warning, which goes in the above with "dark fic"
> 
> Also, if you like your fics to be tied up in a nice bow at the end: this fic is not for you.

Stiles waited for the hallway light to be turned off as he laid in his bed. He waited until he heard footsteps walking away from his door, until the sound of the door at the end of the hall closing. His breathing remaining as shallow as possible, he crawled out of bed. In the dark, he grabbed a hoodie and his shoes, practically tip-toeing his way over to the window. He froze when he thought he heard a door opening, heard distinct foot falls. His heart beating fast and his eyes wide, he tumbled back into his bed just in time for the door to crack open. He lay perfectly still, body sprawled out across his bed, his face pressed against his pillow. The door closed and once more he heard the master bedroom door close. He rolled over, running a hand over his face. 

When he got out of bed again, he pulled on his hoodie, then grabbed his phone. He slipped on his shoes, tripping on his desk chair. He remained still on the floor, covering his mouth to keep from yelping, until he thought a decent enough amount of time had passed. He didn’t hear anything, no noises anywhere in the house. He crawled the rest of the way to the window, opening it slowly. He was halfway out, with one foot planted on the ground when he heard it. 

A man clearing his throat. Stiles made a face, worrying at his bottom lip as he closed his eyes. He swallowed as fear flooded through his body. 

“Get your ass out here.” Stiles fell the rest of the way out of the window. Strong hands gripped him, snatching his arm and hood as they hauled him to his feet. “Where are you headed?” 

“Uh- nowhere, obviously. I’m not-” Stiles yipped as he was dragged towards the front door where his mother stood, her arms crossed as she waited, disappointment written across her face. “I’m not going anywhere.” Stiles looked to his mom, shaking his head slightly, begging. 

“Greg, maybe if we just-”

“Madeline this isn’t up for discussion,” Stiles’ stepfather bellowed as his grip on Stiles’ arm tightened. “There are rules for a reason.” 

“It isn’t a school night,” Stiles said, his voice cracking for only a second. 

“I’m going to put bars on your window if you don’t shut the fuck up. Get your ass downstairs right now,” he said, shoving Stiles towards the basement. Stiles looked to his mom once more, pleading. She looked as though she wanted to say something, but her face fell, her lips pursing together. “And take your fucking shoes off you know your mother hates when you wear shoes in the house.” Stiles scrambled, taking his shoes off. It was too late, though. Dirt jumped out at him, it’s grime a stark contrast to the spotless carpet. “Put them by the door.” Stiles walked past his stepfather to get to the door. He hesitated only for a second before he tried to make a run for it. He hadn’t thought that the door had been locked, he hadn’t heard it. Unfortunately, he had been wrong. It was a mistake that would cost him, in the end. 

A smack to the face caught him off guard. It stung more than anything. What hurt was being shoved against the door, the doorknob digging into his back. Stiles gasped for breath as his stepfather grabbed him by the neck, flinging him to the ground. “Madeline, go to bed.” 

Stiles watched his mother walk silently down the hall and disappear into the master bedroom. He grimaced, waiting for the initial blow that he knew was coming. Greg waited until the door to the bedroom was shut. He kicked Stiles once before hauling him to his feet. Stiles clutched at his stomach as his breathing quickened. He didn’t remember being dragged down the stairs but the next thing he knew he heard the snap of the belt. He didn’t even try to hide his screams. 

 

Stiles woke up on the ground in the basement, curled in a ball. His body was stiff and his muscles were sore. He didn’t want to move, but he knew that he needed to. He walked up the stairs slowly, hissing as he went. He made his way into the kitchen, grabbing a bag of frozen peas out of the freezer before he went into the bathroom, shutting the door and locking it behind him. Slowly, carefully, he striped down to his boxer briefs in order to look over the damage. His back was covered in red welts from the belt, scrapes from where the buckle got him. His arm had finger tip shaped bruises where Greg grabbed him. His face was barely even red from the smack, but his lip was busted open and had dried blood on it. Instinctively he licked his lips, immediately regretting it. A new bruise was forming where he was kicked and that was where he applied the bag of peas. He whimpered as he held it there, sitting on the toilet so that he could rest. 

He jumped when his phone rang. He cleared his throat before answering, testing his voice. 

“Hey,” he whispered into the receiver. “What’s up man?” 

“You didn’t come out last night,” Scott said, sounding disappointed. Stiles sighed, closing his eyes as he put the peas down on the counter, opening up the medicine cabinet and grabbing the his medicine. 

“Yeah, I didn’t make it, sorry. How was the party?”

“It was awesome. I mean, it was broken up like two hours in but we went out into the woods afterwards. I didn’t get home until like, 4am.” Stiles smiled, nodding his head as he cradled the phone between his cheek and shoulder so that he could take his pills one at a time, dry swallowing them. “You should have come out.” 

“Yeah I just wasn’t feeling up to it, lacrosse this week had me beat.” Stiles held back a moan as he accidentally twisted a bit too much, biting down on his lip to keep from screaming. He had layers of bruises, all in different stages of healing. Some were from lacrosse, most though, were from Greg. Most were yellowed and faded. His new bruise was an angry shade of red and deep purple. 

“Well, the match later should be interesting. Want to meet for lunch before it?” Scott asked. 

“What time is it?” Stiles asked. 

“Eh, it is almost eleven.” 

“I can meet you around one,” Stiles said, switching to speakerphone. He bent over, looking underneath the sink for his spare toothbrush. 

“Yeah, sure. Mind if I invite Allison?” Stiles grumbled. “Or it could just be us, that’s fine.”

“Do what you want Scott, tell Allison to bring a friend or something. I don’t like being a third wheel.” He said, standing back up and holding the skin of his stomach taut as he applied pressure to the bruise with the tip of the brush. He grit his teeth as he started making circular motions with the toothbrush, rubbing the bruise, restoring circulation to the area. “Tell her to invite Lydia.”

“Yeah, good idea. Invite the captain’s girlfriend to lunch with us. That will get us on the first line.” Stiles laughed, despite the pain. “Okay, I’ll see you at one then.” 

“Yeah man, definitely,” Stiles said as he pressed end call. As soon as he did, he moaned, gasping for breath. “God, dammit Jesus Christ this fucking-” Stiles was interrupted by a knock on the door. He jerked, taking a step back from the door, forgetting that he locked it. 

“Sweetie, are you okay in there?” Stiles nodded, reaching for the door, opening it just enough so that he could see his mom. 

“Yeah, mom. Getting ready to shower.” She craned her neck, trying to see him. 

“Do you want something to eat?” Stiles shook his head. “Your father asked-”

“He’s not my father.” 

“Greg wants you to scrub the carpet before your match.” 

“I was planning on it, I just woke up.” She smiled at him. It was a small smile, but it was a smile nonetheless. “I- can you put these back in the freezer?” He asked, handing her the bag of peas. She took it without a word, nodding knowingly. Stiles swallowed before he shut the door again, locking it once more. He got the vinegar out from underneath the sink, then turned on the faucet, wetting a washcloth with the hottest water that he could stand. He poured some of the vinegar onto the cloth, then wiped it slowly over the bruise, hissing at how tender it was. He did the same to the bruises on his arm as well. After that he did a general torso wipe down with the vinegared washcloth, pouring more into the cloth every once in awhile. When he was through, he put everything away, then got into the shower. The spray hurt his back, but he tried to ignore it as he showered. Once out, he grabbed the aloe vera that he kept under the sink, applying it to the worst bruises. He ran into his bedroom, making sure the door was shut before he changed for the day, picking up his belongings off the floor, leaving his room spotless. He scrubbed the carpet, making it look good as new before he left. He hopped onto his bike, looking at his father’s Jeep as it sat in the driveway, unused. He clenched his jaw as he took off, his gear strapped to his back. His muscles were on fire by the time he made it to Scott’s house and he was out of breath. 

“Guess what?” Scott asked as Stiles climbed off his bike, panting. 

“What?” 

“My mom is letting me take her car for the day.” 

“Oh thank fucking god, I don’t think I could make it,” Stiles said, wincing. “And thank god I never start.” 

“What happened to your lip?” Stiles’ eyes widened as he realized he forgot to use his mother’s makeup to hide the gash on his lip. His tongue teased at it for a split second before he shrugged it off. 

“Oh, you know me. I opened a cupboard and didn’t close it and then I ran into like five minutes later like the dumbass I am.” Stiles knew he would fall for it, he always did. Scott’s heart was in the right place but his brains... 

“You should really... look where you walk sometimes you know that?” Stiles nodded, putting his things into the back seat of Scott’s mother’s car. “What do you want to eat for lunch?” He asked. 

“I don’t know, I want just like... a sub or something. Or pizza.” 

“You always want pizza.” 

“Because it is fucking delicious and I would eat it everyday if people let me,” Stiles mumbled as he got into the car, buckling his seatbelt. Scott pulled out of the driveway and made his way towards food, messing with the radio as he went. “Scott-”

“What? Hold on, there isn’t anything good on the-”

“Scott you should slow-”

“My mom only has shitty CDs in here I am not listening to Barbara Str-”

“Scott!” Stiles screamed just as police sirens turned on. Stiles banged his head on the back of the car seat, groaning. Scott looked completely dumbfounded as to why they were being pulled over. “You were speeding. A lot.” Stiles sighed, as he watched the cop, the deputy by the looks of him, walk up to the car and ask Scott to roll his window down. 

“License and Registration please.” He was wearing sunglasses and his hands were on his hips as he leaned slightly in towards the car, waiting for Scott to hand them to him. “Do you know how fast you were going?” He asked. 

“No, sir.” 

“He was going 55 in a 30,” Stiles mumbled. Scott glared at Stiles and Stiles could only shrug back. “Don’t look at me like that, he was going to tell you the same thing.” Stiles looked up to see that the sunglasses were removed and that the deputy was staring at him. Stiles’ eyes flickered to his name: Hale. Deputy Hale was looking at him, his gaze falling to Stiles’ lip. Stiles looked down, instinctively licking his lips and hiding the gash by biting down on his lower lip. He swallowed, still feeling as if he was being stared at. 

“Your friend is right, excuse me a moment while I run these.” Stiles covered his eyes with a hand as he waited. 

“I am in such shit.” 

“Basically, yeah.”

“What are the chances-”

“Zero, Scott. We’re in a residential area.” 

“How do you know all this-” Scott stopped mid-sentence. Stiles couldn’t help but glare at his best friend. 

“Really Scott?” He couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out. “My dad-” Deputy Hale cut Stiles off by walking back to Scott’s window, handing Scott his license and registration back. He looked to Stiles, a hand resting against the car as he peered into it, his eyes squinting against the sunlight, his sunglasses hanging from the collar of his uniform. 

“Can I ask you how you got that cut on your lip?” He asked Stiles. Stiles gulped, looking at his hands. 

“I, uh.. there was this cupboard, and I sort of ran into it.” The deputy raised one eyebrow, looking from Stiles to Scott.

“I’d like to ask you two to step out of the car, please.” Stiles raised his eyebrows, his mouth hanging open. Scott got out of the car first, with Stiles following. “Can you walk over here for me?” the deputy asked. Stiles came around to the other side of the car. 

“I don’t understand what is-”

“Scott shut up,” Stiles hissed as he put his hands on the car, spreading his legs shoulder width apart, his chin resting against his chest. “He’s searching us.” Stiles glanced to the deputy in time to see a small smile spread across his face before it disappeared completely as he started to pat Scott down. 

“But we were just going to eat-”

“Have either of you gotten into any fights lately?” He asked. Both of them shook their heads.  
Stiles closed his eyes, bracing himself as Deputy Hale took a step towards him, his hand grabbing onto Stiles’ arm where the bruises were. A sharp intake of breath caught the deputy’s attention and he immediately let go of Stiles’ arm. Slowly, he pat Stiles down, starting with his legs. Stiles could feel his heart rate skyrocket, his knuckles whitened as he gripped Scott’s car tight. He gasped, jerking away from him as his hands pat against the bruise on his side. Stiles was panting, as he turned around to face Deputy Hale. He swore for a second he thought that Deputy Hales’ eyes flashed a brighter blue, but he wasn’t sure. It was bright outside and he had left his sunglasses at home. 

“Can I see your ID?” He asked Stiles. Stiles grabbed his wallet out of his back pocket, handing it over, opening it so that he could see. The deputy handed it back after writing his name and address down. Stiles gulped to keep from breathing heavily. _He wrote down his address_.

“I am going to let you off with a warning this time,” Deputy Hale said to Scott, “just this once.” Scott nodded, unable to stop from smiling, glad he wasn’t getting a ticket. The deputy turned his gaze back to Stiles, his head tilting to one side as he put his hands on his belt, his fingers tapping against it. “How did you really get that cut?” He asked. Stiles shook his head, his eyes darting to Scott. 

“I’m clumsy,” he whispered, as he wrung his fingers together nervously. “I run into shi- stuff all the time.” 

“Is that so?” Stiles nodded. “And if you lifted your shirt right now, would I find bruises?” Stiles gulped. 

“I play lacrosse.” 

“We do, we have a game this afternoon-” Scott said, trying to help, not really understanding what the big deal was because Stiles was, actually, clumsy. Derek looked to Scott, then back to Stiles. Stiles could see the deputy’s jaw clench, as if he was restraining himself. He stepped out of the way, letting Stiles go. Stiles rushed back into the car, closing his eyes as he sat down. Scott got in and started the car. 

“That was weird, and creepy.”

“It was,” Stiles admitted, watching the deputy become smaller and smaller as Scott drove away. He had a feeling that wasn’t the last he was going to see of him.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek Hale got into his cop car and sat for a good five minutes before turning it back on. All he could think about was how that kid smelled, how he had lied to him. Derek closed his eyes, remembering the sound of his heart beat, how he could hear the tremor in his voice. How he jerked from his grasp, the whimper that escaped the kid’s lips as Derek pat him down. How he smelled of vinegar and aloe vera and of _fear_. 

He knew his eyes changed, he couldn’t hold back, couldn’t reign in his anger at the situation fast enough. He looked at his note book, reading the name. _Stilinksi_. I couldn’t be-? But how many Stilinski’s were there in Beacon Hills? Surely not many. Derek typed the last name into his database. 

He was the former Sheriff’s son. Derek’s eyes narrowed as he tried to remember seeing him at the station, ever. He knew the Sheriff had a son and for the life of him he-

He remembered. He could picture him, younger of course, when Derek just started at the police department, when he volunteered before he went into the academy. His father had called him Stiles. Stiles ran around, a lot. He was always smiling, always hyper. The Sheriff let his son run around his office, telling Derek that he needed to expel all that energy somehow. 

Derek remembered, too, the day that the Sheriff died. He had been there when the call came in, when the Sheriff’s wife arrived with their son, who couldn’t have been more than twelve at the time. Derek sighed audibly, running a hand over his face, trying to erase the memories from his thoughts. Before he knew it, he was plugging Stiles’ address into his GPS. He pulled up to the small one story house and sighed. It definitely wasn’t where the Sheriff had lived, because he had been there a few times. The lawn was cut and there were flowers in the flower beds. Everything looked nice, normal. Looks could be deceiving, he knew that well. 

He looked at his watch, seeing that his shift was almost over. He drove back to the station to finish out his paperwork, his eyes glancing up to the Sheriff’s office every once and awhile. Sheriff Argent was seated there, doing his own paperwork. Derek debated asking Chris Argent about Stiles, wondering if he knew. He would have had to of known, right? Known who Stiles’ stepfather was, what he was like. 

“Hey Sheriff, I’ve got a question for you,” Derek said, standing in the doorway leading into the office, putting a hand up on the doorframe casually. 

“Shoot,” Sheriff Argent said, a small smile spread across his lips as if amused at himself. 

“Do you know who Sheriff Stilinski’s widow married?” Chris Argent looked up at Derek, his head tilted as he crossed his arms, thinking. “I ran into his son today, got me wondering.”

“Madeline married Greg Brauer, good man. He works over at the fire department, drives the number three trunk.” Derek nodded, his jaw clenching. “Madeline... I haven’t thought about them in years. Wonder how she’s doing, and Stiles. That was the most hyperactive child I have ever met.” Chris laughed, looking down at his paperwork. Derek frowned, trying to remember more clearly what Stiles had been like but only seeing how he looked today. Derek sighed, audibly. 

“Well I am off the clock, thinking about going down to the lacrosse match.” 

“Wish I could go, my daughter’s boyfriend is a benchwarmer.” 

“Oh yeah? Who’s she dating?” 

“Scott McCall.” Derek raised his eyebrows. Should he tell Chris that he had just pulled Scott McCall over? No. He best not. 

Derek went home first, to change. When he got there he was surprised to find his sister’s car parked out front. 

“Laura?” He called out. “Hey Laur, what are you- breaking and entering now?” 

“Har har,” Laura called out from the bathroom. “I needed a shower and my place had the water shut off.” 

“That’s what happens when you don’t pay your bills.” Laura walked into the living room, her face in a frown. 

“What’s got you in a mood?” Her nose scrunched up. “You’re tense and angry.” She put up her hair. “Come on baby bro, what’s up?” She asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s nothing,” Derek said, shrugging her off. “And you really need to pay your bills on time.” 

“Your shower is better anyways,” she teased, tilting her head. “I can tell something is bothering you-”

“You aren’t going to let this go, are you? I had a long shift is all.”

“Argent giving you shit?” She asked, her voice crisp, her dislike of the Sheriff letting itself be known. “How he weaseled his way-”

“Laura, stop. It’s fine.” Laura rolled her eyes. 

“Whatever. What are you going to do now? Go to the gym?” She asked, knowing Derek’s normal after work routine. Derek shook his head.

“I’m going to the high school’s lacrosse game.” Laura lifted her eyebrows. 

“Mind if I tag along?” She asked. Derek sighed, but nodded. “Good because I was going anyways,” she murmured. “I’m sort of dating the coach.” 

“You what?” Derek asked. Laura winked. 

“He’s all sorts of freak-”

“Stop, stop right there. Seriously. I really don’t want to know about-” Derek made a hand motion, “that.” Laura laughed. “Let me change and we’ll head over there. “

Once there, they grabbed seats on the bleachers, which were basically filled. Derek searched the players that were standing, not finding Stiles. His attention went to the bench, where he saw him laughing with Scott. He was _laughing_. Maybe things weren’t bad. Maybe he really was clumsy, maybe he bruised easily. Maybe lacrosse had him sore. Derek shook his head, not believing it for a second. Stiles had flinched, jerked back from him. Without realizing it, minutes had passed and he had been staring at Stiles, listening in on their conversation about pizza, lacrosse, and some girl named Lydia. 

“Why are you staring down that kid?” Laura asked, breaking Derek’s concentration. 

“What?” He asked, looking at her. Laura rolled her eyes, looking to Stiles. 

“What is so interesting about that kid? You look like you want to eat him.” Derek growled under his breath, to which Laura growled back. “You aren’t telling me something-” Derek turned his head, looking around for a scent that he just picked up. It was distinct, it was-

“Fancy seeing you here.” A voice rang out. Derek closed his eyes, his teeth gritting. 

“Kate.” 

Derek looked up to see Kate Argent smiling down at him, next to her was a younger girl, a teen. The Sheriff’s daughter, Allison. “Mind if we join you?” 

“Well who are we to say no?” Laura asked, her tone veiled. Derek and Laura scooted down a bit, making room for Kate and Allison. Derek resumed his glances in Stiles’ direction as Laura made small talk with the Argent’s. 

 

“Oh, good, Allison made it,” Scott said as he waved at her from where they were sitting on the bench. “Huh, that’s weird.” 

“What’s weird?” Stiles asked, looking out at the field as the game started. 

“She is sitting with that cop that pulled me over earlier.” Stiles twisted, looking for them. He grimaced, cursing himself for the pain he caused himself. Stiles’ gaze fell to Deputy Hale, who was looking at him. Stiles immediately turned back around, rubbing his head. 

“I bet her aunt knows him or something. It’s a small town.” 

“I’ve never really seen him before.” 

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, man. I don’t think I have either. But I don’t really do things that you know, make cops pop up at random times. I don’t even have a fucking car, so.” 

“You sort of do,” Scott supplied. Stiles scoffed. 

“Just because my dad left me the Jeep doesn’t mean it’s mine. As I am reminded almost daily by assface.” 

“I think your stepdad is pretty cool,” Scott said. Stiles grumbled, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees and hands covering his mouth. “Like that time when I rode over and my chain came off my bike and he fixed it.” Stiles shut his eyes. 

“Scott do me a favor?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up about Greg, alright?” 

“Just saying, man. Fine.” Scott turned around and waved at Allison again. “Speaking of, you didn’t tell me he was coming to the game.” Stiles’ eyes widened. He turned, looking through the crowd, his neck craning as he searched. Greg and his mom were walking in, getting a seat. Shit fuck. Couldn’t he just let Stiles have time that was his? Without fucking feeling like-

Without realizing it, Stiles’ gaze shot straight to Deputy Hale’s. Just like before, the deputy was looking at him. He knew he should feel creeped out, scared that a cop was paying this much attention to him but in weighing and balancing things in his mind the cop was the safer bet. His eyes darted back to his stepfather and his mom. They both waved at him, which made him sick. He waved back, but only to his mom. He wouldn’t wave at Greg, ever. Before he turned back around, he looked one more time at the deputy. 

This time, though, the deputy was looking at his parents. Oh, shit. Stiles made a point not to look back at either of them again during the match, not even when the coach told him in the final five minutes to get out on the field. 

“What?” He asked, his eyes wide. 

“Are you, or are you not on this team Bilinski?” Stiles nodded, scrambling to his feet as he put his helmet on and grabbed his stick. It was the longest five minutes of his life. What was worse, he caught the ball. He ran, he was tackled. It was the single most painful tackle in the world, because he was brought down by an arm into his side. He curled on the ground, coughing as the buzzer went off. They had won, but he couldn’t move. The wind had been knocked out of him. The player that knocked him over reached out a hand, trying to help him up. Reluctantly, he let himself be pulled off of the ground. Scott was there, yapping in his ear about how he got to play five full minutes and how awesome it was. Stiles felt dizzy, nauseous. A hand went to his shoulder, steadying him. For a second, he was thankful for it because he thought he was going to fall over. 

“That was a poor excuse of some lacrosse playing.” Greg’s voice rang out. Stiles’ back stiffened as he took a step away, or tried to. Greg’s hand on his shoulder tightened, keeping Stiles in place. “I expected better of you.” 

“I didn’t even know I was going to go on,” Stiles said through gritted teeth. 

“Come on, let’s go home.” 

“My bike is at Scott’s,” he whispered. “I need it.” 

“We’ll pick it up after dinner. Your mother is making your favorite.” Stiles’ gaze went to his mom’s, who nodded. Stiles frowned, looking for Scott. Instead of finding Scott, he found the deputy. Who was walking towards him. 

“Okay, we can get it later, if not, I could just walk. It’s fine-” 

“Madeline!” The deputy called out. Stiles’ eyes widened as his mother smiled. 

“Derek is that you?” She asked, giving Derek a hug. Greg’s grip on Stiles’ shoulder pinched and Stiles was amazed that he was still standing. “Greg this is Derek Hale, he works at the police station.” Derek offered out his hand. Greg dropped his hand from Stiles’ shoulder in order to shake his hand. As soon as it was gone from him, Stiles moved to stand next to his mom, closer to Derek. “Derek this is Stiles, you remember him don’t you?” She asked. Derek nodded, once, which Stiles was surprised by. 

“I remember him running around the station,” Derek said, looking at Stiles. Stiles gulped, looking anywhere but at Derek or Greg. 

“He always had a lot of energy,” Greg said, smiling. Stiles rolled his eyes as he continued to look for Scott. 

“Hey, mom, I’m going to go look for Scott and get my stuff out of the locker room.” 

“Okay, sweetie. We’ll see you at home for dinner?” She asked. Stiles nodded, looking at Greg as he kissed his mother’s cheek. 

“I’ll be home for dinner,” he whispered. As he walked away he could feel the gaze of the deputy on him. He couldn’t help but feel like if Derek hadn’t of been there, he would have had to leave with them now. He had a few more hours out of the house, and that was all that mattered. 

 

He found Scott with Allison and Kate, and another woman who introduced herself as Laura Hale. She extended her hand to Stiles, shaking it. 

“Do you know my brother, Derek?” She asked. Stiles shrugged. 

“He pulled us over today,” Stiles said truthfully as she released his hand. Laura frowned at him as if confused. “But I don’t... know him know him.”

“You got pulled over?” Allison asked Scott. Scott looked at Stiles like he was going to shoot him. 

“I didn’t give him a ticket, I promise,” Derek said as he walked up, standing next to Stiles. Stiles held his breath, looking down at the ground. 

“He should have, though,” Stiles mumbled, unable to stop himself. 

“Whose side are you on, man?” Scott asked. Laura laughed. 

“How about we all go to the Tavern, grab a bite to eat?” She suggested. “I don’t know about you guys but I am starving.” Everyone was nodding, but Stiles. Stiles shook his head. 

“I’ve got to go home.” 

“Oh, come on, Stiles. You never do anything,” Scott complained. Stiles gulped, unable to stop his eyes from flickering towards Derek. “Just ask your mom.” 

“I can ask, I guess.” Stiles took out his phone and dialed his mother’s number. “Hey, mom, so a bunch of the team is going to the Tavern, I was wondering if I could-” he stopped to listen to her. “I don’t want to talk to him, can’t you just- Hi, Greg.” Stiles sighed, turning from the group and walking a few steps away from them. “I was invited to dinner by the deputy, he and his sister want to take Scott, Allison and her aunt to-” Stiles closed his eyes. He had been hoping that the mention of the deputy would do something. “It’s a Saturday night, Greg. Can’t I just-” he looked back at Scott, who made a motion with his hands. Stiles noticed Derek, who had his hands in his back pockets, watching him. He bit his lip. “Greg I am going to hang out with my friends.” 

Well, there was that. He hung up on Greg. He was pretty sure that he would end up regretting that later. He turned back to them with a smile on his face. “I can come.” 

“Yes!” Scott said, as if it was Christmas. 

At the Tavern, they got a massive booth in the back. Stiles was squished in between Scott and Laura, which he was fine with. Derek was on the end, next to her. Stiles found it odd that Derek kept glaring at Allison’s aunt, but he tried to concentrate on what he wanted to order instead of paying attention to the deputy. 

Stiles went with a burger, and fries. He stayed quiet most of the dinner, enjoying being around Scott and Allison, listening to Derek and Kate Argent bicker like an old married couple as Laura egged them on. In the middle of everything, Laura leaned over to him, her arm bumping into his. He ignored the pain, looking at her and smiling. 

“You know, I thought hanging out with a bunch of high schoolers would be boring but you guys are pretty cool.” 

“Thanks?” Scott said. Stiles nodded, his gaze falling to Derek who was looking at him. They stayed for a few hours, ordering an appetizer after they had all finished their food an hour prior. Stiles looked at his phone, expecting calls and texts. There were none. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad. He pushed it from the back of his mind, though, because he wanted to have fun with his friends. By the time they left, it was nightfall. Allison was walking with Scott, ahead of him. 

“Are you guys going to The Point?” Stiles asked. The Point was the make out spot in Beacon Hills, in the woods. Derek and Laura were walking to their car nearby, and stopped. 

“Do you need a ride home, Stiles?” Laura asked. “I mean, if they are heading out there.” Stiles looked to Scott, then back at Laura and Derek. 

“We can take you home,” Derek offered. 

“My bike is at Scott’s,” Stiles said. 

“We can go get it. It is dark, anyways, we can put it in my trunk and I can bring you home.” Stiles bit his lip, but nodded. 

“See you Monday, Stiles!” Scott called out as he and Allison got in his car. 

“You drive safe!” Derek called out with a smile. Scott laughed, nodding as he started his car, as Stiles climbed into the back seat of Derek’s.


	3. Chapter 3

“Do you mind dropping me off first at our parent’s?” Laura asked, sighing. “I’ve got to crash there tonight since my water is still off.” Derek shook his head as if annoyed. 

“Sure, is that okay Stiles?” Derek asked. Stiles nodded, gulping. It didn’t really matter, now, what time Stiles got home. The Hale’s house just outside of town, in the woods. Stiles thought it was one of the nicest houses he had ever seen. When they pulled up, Laura got out, pushing the seat forward so that Stiles could get into the front seat. Once Stiles was situated, Derek drove off. Stiles told him where Scott lived so that they could pick up his bike, but besides that they stayed silent. Miraculously, his bike fit in Derek’s trunk, which surprised him. When they got back in the car, Derek sighed. Stiles hunched his back, sliding down the seat slightly, trying to make himself as small as possible. He felt like he knew what was coming, and he really wished it wouldn’t. 

“Do you need to talk about what is going on, Stiles?” Derek asked. Stiles shook his head, putting his elbow on the rest, biting his thumb nail as he looked out the window. Stiles swore he heard Derek growl, but he dismissed it. He reached over and turned up the music, making it near impossible for Derek to talk to him. Derek didn’t turn the music down, which he could have since it was his car. He could have, but he didn’t. Stiles looked at Derek out of the corner of his eye. Derek was looking straight ahead, his jaw set tight and hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. Stiles worried at the inside of his bottom lip with his teeth, going back to counting the trees as they passed by. 

“Turn right up here,” he said over the music. Derek turned it down enough so that he could hear Stiles give directions. “Stop here, please.” Stiles said suddenly, almost shouting. As soon as the car stopped he scrambled out of it, tapping the trunk multiple times until Derek popped it. Stiles got his bike out, cursing under his breath as he walked it to Derek’s window. “Thank you for the ride,” he whispered, looking to his house which was down the street. 

“Stiles-” Derek started to say, but Stiles shook his head as he hopped onto his bike. 

“Today was fun, thanks,” he called over his shoulder. Stiles rode his bike as fast as he could away from Derek, away from his car. He put the bike in the back, locked it up, then walked in through the kitchen door. Sitting at the table was Greg, waiting for him. 

“Did you have fun?” He asked. Stiles nodded, panting from the block he rode, his side in pain. “Speak up, I can’t hear you.” 

“I did, we went to the Tavern.” Stiles stayed where he was, with his back pressed up against the door. 

“Next time you get some minutes in, try not to make an ass of yourself. Falling over as soon as someone touched you,” Greg sneered at him. Stiles looked to the table, seeing that there was, indeed, a bottle of beer there. Greg looked to the beer, smiling. “You know, when I married your mother-” Stiles didn’t want to hear it, he didn’t want to hear about what Greg had to put up with. “She was a wreck, and you? You were just a skinny kid who wouldn’t shut up and didn’t know how to sit the fuck down. Hell, look at you standing there and your damned foot won’t stop tapping against my door.” Stiles hadn’t even realized he had been doing it, so he willed himself to stop. “Can’t even make the first line.” 

Stiles lowered his head, closing his eyes. He concentrated on his breathing, trying to make it so that he would stop taking such shallow breaths. 

“Do I even need to say that you are grounded, is that even a term that you need to hear right now?” Stiles shook his head. “Give me your phone.” Stiles tensed. 

“What if mom needs to call me?” Stiles asked. 

“Give. me. your. phone.” Stiles took it out of his pocket, swallowing back tears. He hated them, he hated how weak they made him. He loathed showing Greg how scared he was of him, how in control he was. Greg, on the other hand, liked when Stiles cried. It gave him more verve when he got out his belt. Stiles handed it over, putting it on the table. “You may go.” 

Stiles bolted towards his room. He changed into his pajamas, which were sweatpants and a long sleeved shirt, before he made his way into the bathroom as quietly as possible. He did the same routine he did in the morning, taking his toothbrush to his bruises, the vinegar, the aloe vera, then brushed his teeth. He took more pills, pills for depression, pills for anxiety. Pills that made him less emotional, pills that stripped away feelings. Feelings were the last thing he wanted, the last thing he needed. He took his pills without water, felt them go down his throat. It made him remember that he took them, he needed to remember how it felt. He looked at himself in the mirror, shirtless, hands gripping the edge of the sink. He licked his lips, his tongue grazing over the cut on his lip. He closed his eyes and sighed, standing alone in the silence. His head was full of words of worry, of distress and of longing. He let his mind wander to thoughts of his father, his real father. He thought about birthdays, about hugs, about sitting in the station after school as he did his homework. He thought about Friday evenings and pizza, about movie nights, about his mother crying when he died. He remembered overhearing her on the phone with her sister, saying she couldn’t afford the house, couldn’t afford Stiles’ medication, asked if Stiles could stay with her instead. Stiles opened his eyes, looking in the mirror once more. 

He reached over and grabbed his shirt, taking one last gaze at his bruises before the fabric hid them. He unlocked the door, then turned off the light as he walked into the kitchen, which was vacant. He grabbed the bag of peas, and a glass of water, then headed into his room. He drank half of the water, then set the glass down on his nightstand. He put his computer down on his bed, pulling up Netflix. He laid down, putting the peas on his side, biting his lip as he rest his head on a pillow, an arm slipping beneath it for support. The movie was on for barely five minutes before there was a soft knock at his door. Stiles pushed pause, then waited for his mother to open the door. She walked in, closing the door behind her slowly before she sat on the bed as he closed his laptop, pushing it out of the way. 

She had a first aid kit with her, which made Stiles frown. 

“Did he hit you?” Stiles asked, his voice cracking. She shook her head. 

“It’s for your back.” Stiles didn’t move. “I know he used the belt, I heard it.” Stiles reluctantly rolled onto his stomach, lifting his shirt. He heard her sharp intake of breath and he buried his head against his pillow. He didn’t like upsetting her, he didn’t like her seeing his body. “You’ve got dirt in the cuts.” 

“I can’t get to them,” Stiles mumbled. He heard her open the small first aid kit. “Are you sure he didn’t hit you?” Stiles asked. She paused in her movements, but only for a moment. 

“He didn’t.” Stiles shut his eyes, sighing. He thought about the first time he saw Greg raise a hand to his mother. He had freaked out, pushing Greg as hard as he could, beating his fists against him. 

‘Don’t hurt my mom!’ He had screamed at the top of his lungs. Greg used Stiles against his mother, now. If he was angry with her, he would hit Stiles and she would immediately cave. If Stiles did something, then Greg would threaten Madeline and Stiles would step in front of her. It was a vicious cycle, really. 

Stiles flinched as his mother dabbed rubbing alcohol on the cuts, cleaning them slowly. He sniffled, turning his head to look at her. 

“I am so sorry,” She whispered with tears in her eyes. 

“Shh,” Stiles said, reaching a hand out and resting it on her knee. “Don’t.” She wiped at her face, nodding. 

“Your father is probably rolling in his grave,” she whispered, dabbing neosporin on Stiles’ back. Stiles bit his lip, refusing to answer her. “Are you going out tomorrow?” She asked. Stiles shook his head. 

“I’ll be here with you.” 

“You should go out, have fun.” 

“Scott will be with Allison, mom. I’ll stay with you.” 

“He works during the day tomorrow, you know.” Stiles nodded. “So you can go out until dinner.” Stiles smiled. 

“We should go to lunch together.” 

“I’d like that,” Madeline smiled, tears still in her eyes. “You’re all patched up,” she whispered, her hand rubbing his back gently under where all of the cuts lay. Stiles gulped, pulling his shirt down. “The peas are melting.” 

“I’ll put them back.” 

“I know you will, dear.” Madeline stood, sniffing back her emotions, straightening her outfit before walking towards the door. When she got there, she turned around and reached into her pocket. She brought out Stiles’ phone, tossing it onto the bed next to him. 

“Mom-”

“You did nothing to have it taken away, and I explained how I need to be in contact with you.”

“He gave it back without hurting-”

“Stiles, don’t push the subject, please.” Stiles sat up, his breathing shallow as he thought about Greg hurting his mom. “Get some rest so we can have a nice lunch tomorrow.” 

“Mom-” A knock on the door interrupted them. Not even a second went by before Greg opened it, bursting in. Stiles flinched, his hands gripping his comforter tight where he sat on his bed. 

“I’m heading to bed, Maddie,” Greg said, looking from Madeline to Stiles. 

“I was just giving Stiles his phone back,” she whispered. “I was heading back to our room now.” Greg didn’t say a word as she left. Stiles looked up at Greg, his lips pursed as he watched Greg shut his door. 

“What were you playing at, exactly, with hanging up on me today?” Stiles couldn’t look Greg in the eye, not really. 

“I was invited.”

“And if you were invited, you feel like you should be able to go? Just because you were invited somewhere?” 

“By a cop, yes.” Greg stilled as if contemplating something. His eyes fell to Stiles’ phone which was laying on his bed beside him. 

“You are grounded, you can’t go out anywhere.” 

“You just grounded me, though. I wasn’t grounded-” Stiles stopped mid-sentence because of Greg’s stance. He suddenly looked bigger. Stiles braced himself as he was pinned against his bed, Greg’s arm across Stiles’ chest as his other hand gripped Stiles’ face, hard. 

“If you even think about explaining your pathetic life to that cop consider yourself grounded until you are eighteen.” Stiles held his breath, trying to keep his legs from kicking out, forcing himself not to react. Reacting always made things worse. “Do you understand me?” 

Stiles couldn’t even nod in response.

“Yes,” Stiles whispered. Greg left, which surprised Stiles. He just... got up and went to bed. Stiles stayed in the position that Greg had pinned him down in until he heard the door to the master bedroom close. Once he did heard it, he crawled into bed, burrowing beneath the covers. He opened his laptop, falling asleep to the movie he had started. 

 

The next day, Stiles took his mom to lunch. They went out for pizza, because Stiles loved pizza and it reminded him of his dad. Madeline was just happy to spend time with Stiles, which Stiles knew. Stiles liked being out with her, because people always stopped by them and hugged her, talked to her, made her feel loved. They asked how she was doing, how Stiles was doing. She lied, of course, but it was the fact that people seemed to care that made Stiles smile. The town missed his father as much as he did, he felt like. They hadn’t forgotten about his mom, about him, in a way. 

It wasn’t the town’s fault that Greg had weaseled his way into his mother’s heart. It wasn’t his mother’s fault that Greg had been charming at first, had promised her security and a home, had promised to be a good father. Stiles forced a smile as people asked his mother questions about Greg, about how things were. Without blinking, she lied. Stiles ached to scream at her, to tell her that she was deluded in thinking that what they were going through was normal. But he couldn’t. 

He just didn’t have it in him. Stiles was both excited and scared about turning eighteen. For one, he was getting the fuck out of dodge. University, any university that would take him that was out of Beacon Hills was what he wanted. He wanted to get away from Greg. He worked hard for his grades, knowing that a scholarship was what he needed. But if he left, he would be leaving his mom alone with him. He didn’t want to leave her, he didn’t want to think about what would happen if he were to go. He felt trapped, knowing that he had less than a year before he graduated. He was already researching schools that he could get into based on his SAT scores, which his mother was currently telling someone who he didn’t know but seemed to know them. She liked telling people his score, like it made her proud. She always said that his father would have been proud, which Stiles didn’t believe. 

His father wouldn’t have been proud of him for letting his mother marry a fucking asshole who beats kids. His father would have been disappointed in Stiles for not fighting back, for not being able to stop Greg and his stupid fucking vicious cycle. Stiles didn’t feel proud of himself in the slightest, about anything. He felt like he was barely scraping by, that he was unable to break free. He was trapped because he knew, in the end, that he wouldn’t leave his mother with a monster and that hurt. It fucking hurt because he could, he could leave. He could run. But he wouldn’t. That, Stiles knew, would be the worst thing that he could do in his father’s eyes. He could not, would not leave his mother with Greg, alone and defenseless. 

They shared a pizza, wood oven baked, at Stiles’ favorite restaurant. Despite being reminded about his father every time someone stopped and talked to him, Stiles had a good time. They ordered garlic knots as they waited for their pizza to arrive, which tasted amazing. Stiles was halfway through his second piece of pizza when Derek walked in with someone who looked like him, but older, with kids. Stiles froze mid bite when Derek turned toward him, as if on instinct. As if he had smelled- 

Stiles rolled his eyes at himself. There was no way that Derek could _smell him_. They were seated by Stiles and his mother, which unnerved him. He could feel Derek’s gaze on him and it irked him. What was his deal, really? 

“Oh, I didn’t know Derek was sitting by us,” his mother said, smiling at him. Stiles leaned forward, shaking his head. 

“What? Don’t mom-”

“Hi Derek!” She said, giving him a small wave. Stiles slumped down in his seat. “Sit up straight, what are you doing?” She asked in a motherly fashion. Stiles grit his teeth and scooted back up, making a face. 

“Why are you getting his attention? He’s going to come over-” Stiles hissed, not entirely sure why he didn’t want him to come over except all he could think about was Greg pinning him against the bed, threatening him. 

“Oh, sweetie, do you not remember how much time you spent hanging around him at the station?” She asked. Stiles shook his head. No, he didn’t remember. He barely remembered anything, now, from when his dad was alive. It was slipping through his fingers every time that Greg touched him. Stiles gnawed at his bottom lip, taking a bite of his pizza as Derek walked up. 

“Hi Madeline, Stiles,” Derek said, leaning down and kissing Madeline’s cheek. Stiles cleared his throat, licking his lips. 

“Hello, dear,” Madeline couldn’t stop grinning, she was absolutely beaming. “I was just telling Stiles how much he used to follow you around, when you first started at the station.” Stiles swore he saw Derek blush, his cheeks redden. “I would come in to the station to pick him up and there he would be, just sitting next to you and you would be talking to him,” now Stiles was blushing. He could feel it in his neck and his cheeks, full body flush. Could his mom please, please shut up. 

“He just had a lot of questions, that’s all,” Derek whispered. Stiles looked up at him, wishing for a moment that he could take Derek aside and talk to him. He wanted to ask him what his father was really like. His father the Sheriff, his father the boss, what he was like at work, outside of work. Did he watch baseball? Did he like beer or liquor more? Did his eyes light up when he talked about Stiles’ mom? Derek was looking at him, his face stoic yet Stiles could tell there was something bubbling underneath, like Derek wanted to say something to him. Instead, Derek’s eyes flashed to Stiles’ lip, a reminder that he was suspicious, that he was a threat. 

He couldn’t know. 

“You were always so sweet,” Madeline said, sighing. “It’s such a shame that... well,” she waved her hand, ending the sentence.” Stiles looked to his pizza. He just wanted to go through one day without missing his dad, wishing that his mother had what she deserved. She deserved happiness. 

“I’m... going to let you guys get back to your meal,” Derek said, his hand on Madeline’s shoulder, squeezing it. He pat Stiles on the back, once, but the touch lingered. Stiles wasn’t used to being touched, by anyone, unless it hurt. He and Scott didn’t touch, his mother only touched him to treat his cuts. Everything else was Greg and lacrosse. Pain, so much pain. Stiles couldn’t stop thinking about the pat. It was such a simple gesture, but he couldn’t for the life of him ever remember anyone else doing that to him. 

“We’ll see you around,” she said, getting back to her pizza. Stiles nodded at Derek, the words not coming out. He didn’t know what to say, really. Derek didn’t look over to him until he sat down. This time, though, Stiles didn’t feel freaked out by Derek’s gaze. It was as if it calmed him, as if Derek was trying to tell him it would be okay. He just wasn’t sure if he could believe it or not.


	4. Chapter 4

“You’re stalking the poor kid,” Laura sighed, sitting next to Derek on his couch. She was crashing at his place until she got her electricity turned back on. Derek said nothing. He would neither deny nor confirm the fact that he was watching Stiles. Laura tilted her head, patting Derek’s leg. “Interesting choice, brother.” Derek’s brow furrowed. 

“What?” He asked. Laura rolled her eyes. 

“Oh, don’t play dumb with me.” 

“What are you talking about, seriously?”

“You and the Sheriff’s kid, the former Sheriff’s kid. You smell like him,” she whispered, leaning close and sniffing Derek. Derek shoved her with his elbow, pushing her back. Laura laughed. “Touchy, touchy.” Derek had been watching Stiles closely. He found reasons to run into him, kept going to his house at night, listening. He listened for screams, for whimpers, for violence. He listened to Stiles’ heart, which he could pick out of a crowd in a heartbeat. He was running out of excuses as to why he ran into Stiles in public. He did it, in reality, to catch his scent, to check it. Stiles smelled of aloe vera constantly, and mildly of vinegar as if he poured it over himself then got in the shower afterwards. A human wouldn’t be able to smell the vinegar, but Derek did. He could also hear how Stiles’ heartbeat picked up whenever he saw Derek. Derek wasn’t sure, exactly, if it was out of fear or not. Stiles was always with Scott when Derek ran into him around town, which was bothersome. Derek needed to talk to Stiles alone, he needed to get him to tell him what was happening to him. Derek needed Stiles to confess. 

“I am not touchy.” 

“Oh,” Laura said, her eyes wide, “oh, sure. You? Touchy? Never. Please, you are so touchy I am pretty sure that if I even went within ten feet of that kid you would rip my head off.” 

“What?”

“Territorial mother fuck-” 

“Laura, stop,” Derek growled. Laura smiled, biting her lip. 

“Admit it.” 

“No.” 

“I think I will go visit him, see if he wants to you know, hang out.” 

“You are almost thirty,” Derek muttered. Laura’s smile widened. 

“And boys love an older, experienced-”

“Shut up, Laura.” Laura clapped, getting up. 

“Well, I actually am leaving, I’m meeting Kate-” Derek growled. “Oh, you hold a fucking grudge like no one-”

“That family-”

“You work with Chris.”

“I don’t trust anyone in that family, at all. Be careful,” Derek said, watching Laura leave. As soon as she was gone, he got up. He needed to go for a run to clear his head. All he could think about was Stiles. About his breath hitching in his throat, about Greg’s hands on Stiles’ shoulder, about Stiles’ voice going higher when he was on the phone, about how he flinched at every touch. 

Derek ran through the woods, his instincts kicking in as he wandered aimlessly. At least, he thought it was aimless, until he found his way to Stiles’ house. Stiles had his window open, which had never happened before, even if the blinds were down. Derek could hear Stiles typing on his keyboard, humming to music that he could only imagine was playing through headphones by how low it was. Derek heard a knock at Stiles’ door, then him scrambling to answer it. 

“What, I’m doing homework-”

“You need to go to the store, your mother forgot to get all of the ingredients for dinner.” Derek could smell the perspiration, the sweat on the back of Stiles’ neck. He could hear perfectly the rise in his heart rate, the tremble in his voice. 

“Oh, okay. Yeah, I’ll just... let me just get my coat-”

“You need to be back in time so that she has dinner on the table in time.” 

“What?” Stiles asked, probably looking at a clock. “Can I take my dad’s Je-”

“What?” Greg bellowed. Derek growled from where he was listening in. He heard Greg take a step forward, he heard Stiles gasp. There was no contact, though. “That is off the table. Take your bike. If you aren’t back in time-” Greg didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he walked away. Stiles breathed out, opening a drawer and grabbing something, probably a hoodie. Derek ran, he ran to his house in order to get his car. As he was running, it started to thunder. He had to hurry, he didn’t want to smell like wet dog, and he wanted to make sure that Stiles’ didn’t have to ride home in the rain that was surely on its way. When he got to the grocery store closest to Stiles’ house, he checked for Stiles’ bike. It was there. He walked around, looking for him. Thunder clapped overhead and Derek sighed. 

“Derek?” Stiles voice rang out. Derek turned, surprised that Stiles called out for him. In his hands were eggs, bread crumbs, and milk. Derek smiled with relief. He could hear the rain start, could hear it pouring down as if it was monsooning out. 

“Stiles,” Derek said, walking up to him. Stiles tilted his head, confused. 

“Are you shopping?” Derek realized he wasn’t carrying anything. He had no basket, no groceries. He looked at what he was standing next to: tampons. He grabbed a box. 

“Laura.... needed them.” Stiles grinned. Derek wanted Stiles to always grin like that, to feel like he was allowed to, that he deserved to. “Did you ride here?” 

“Yeah....” Stiles said, looking towards the front windows. He looked at his phone, at the time and bit his lip. 

“Want a ride?” Derek asked. Stiles didn’t even think about it before he nodded. 

“Would you?”

“I offered, and I insist.” 

They situated Stiles’ bike into the trunk as quick as possible after they checked out. By the time they got into the car they were both soaked through and laughing.

“I swear when I left my house there were barely any clouds,” Stiles said, wiping his face with a sopping wet hand. Derek reached to the back seat and grabbed a duffle bag that he kept a spare set of clothes in, handing Stiles a shirt. 

“Here, put that on.” Stiles shook his head no. 

“I’ll be fine, I’m going to get soaked once I get back out of the car anyways. 

“At least pat yourself dry with it then,” Derek said as he started the car. Stiles did, drying his face and hands. He shivered, the rain had been freezing despite the weather. 

“What’s for dinner?” Derek asked. 

“Chicken Parm,” Stiles said through chattering teeth. “Do you.... want to join?” He asked. Derek raised an eyebrow. “My mom will be thankful you drove me, she hates it when I have to ride my bike in the rain.” 

“I don’t know-” Derek started to say, knowing that Stiles hadn’t asked permission. 

“That and she loves you, so...” he trailed off, biting his bottom lip. 

“Alright, alright.” 

They ran inside as soon as they pulled up, groceries in tow. As Stiles opened the door, Greg looked as though he was about to yell, but stopped as soon as he saw Derek. Derek had his duffle bag over his shoulder, so he would have clean, dry clothes to put on. Greg took one look at it, his face shifting from anger to confusion as he stood. 

“I ran into Deputy Hale at the grocery store, he offered to drive me home,” Stiles said, shifting his weight from leg to leg. “I invited him to dinner, since, well-”

“Derek!” Madeline said with a smile as she came out of the kitchen, taking the groceries from Stiles. “Thank you so much for bringing him home, I was worried sick about him out in this.” Greg stood and walked over to Derek, he stuck out his hand to shake Derek’s.

“Would love to have you for dinner, you got something to change into?” He asked. Derek nodded. 

“I do. I always keep spare clothes in my car.” For shifting, or for after work. 

“Have Stiles show you the bathroom, then. Son, you better change to.” Greg said, his tone staying light. Derek could tell though, from the tension in the room, that not all was well. Stiles nodded, his fingers grasping at Derek’s jacket, tugging him lightly. 

“It’s this way,” Stiles whispered. They barely took a step before Stiles stopped dead, immediately taking off his shoes, his palm against Derek’s chest. Stiles looked up at him, his eyes wide. “Take your shoes off.” Derek did as Stiles asked as soon as Stiles was done, as soon as his hand dropped. Stiles’ heart was beating fast, so fast it was as if he was having a mild panic attack. The house was clean, spotless. There were no pictures on the walls, not even of family, which Derek found odd. He pushed it from his mind as Stiles turned on the bathroom light for him, then watched him enter. “I, um... hope this dinner isn’t awkward.” 

“Why would it be?” Derek asked, feigning ignorance. Stiles shook his head, then walked into his room to change. Derek shut the door to the bathroom, then changed quickly. He hung his wet clothes over the shower curtain then did something he knew he might regret: he searched the bathroom. He opened the medicine cabinet, reading the prescriptions. Stilinski, Stilinski, Morrison, Morrison, Stilinski, Morrison, Stilinski. Stiles had a lot of- it didn’t matter. That wasn’t what he was looking for. He checked the cupboard under the sink. Bingo. Aloe vera, vinegar, and a toothbrush that had Stiles’ scent all over it. It was clean, but worn. It had never touched toothpaste. Derek found an almost empty bottle of Hydrogen Peroxide and a spool of gauze with almost nothing left. Derek flinched when there was a knock at the door. He closed the cupboard as quickly and as quietly as possible then opened the door. Madeline was standing there. 

“Want me to put your things in the wash? I am going to put Stiles’ wet clothes in, so I’d be more than happy to throw yours in as well.” Derek smiled, nodding as he grabbed his things. He followed Madeline to Stiles’ room where she knocked on the door and asked for his things. Derek looked into the spotless teenager’s room, surprised at how little there was to it. The walls were white and bare, there was nothing on the carpet except for a rug, from what he could see. When he was a teenager, his room had been a mess. Stiles handed his mother the wet clothes, the sleeves of his shirt riding up slightly as he did so. Derek’s eye caught a glimpse of a discoloration of his skin, yellows and greens. Derek shut his eyes, reigning in his anger. 

Dinner was quiet, but delicious. Chicken Parmesan with marinara sauce and a side of vegetables with garlic bread. 

“This is amazing, thank you for inviting me,” Derek said to Greg, knowing that it would be best. Greg smiled, nodding his head. 

“Madeline is a good cook, aren’t you dear?” Madeline smiled. 

“Thank you both.” Stiles was picking at his food, his eyes refusing to look up. Madeline looked to Stiles, trying to hold back a sigh. 

“Tell your mother how good her cooking is.” Stiles looked up, as if he hadn’t been paying attention. 

“Mom, I love your Chicken Parm,” he whispered. Madeline’s hand reached across the table, wrapping around Stiles’ wrist for only a second before pulling back. 

“Well, I’m going to go out back and have a smoke, care to join me Derek?” Greg asked. Derek shook his head.

“I don’t really smoke.” 

“Suit yourself,” Greg said, standing. “You,” he pointed at Stiles, “make sure your mother doesn’t touch a single dish.” Stiles nodded, shifting his food around on his plate. Greg went out back, standing under the awning of the small porch they had, and lit a cigar. Derek stood, taking Greg’s and his plates to the sink. 

“What? No! What are you doing?” Stiles asked, standing up and rushing over to Derek. Derek’s eyebrows rose. 

“Helping you with the dishes.” Stiles looked outside where Greg was, not paying attention. Stiles reached for the dishes, trying to take them from Derek. 

“No, you can’t.” 

“I know how to do dishes Stiles,” Derek said, pulling on them. Madeline stood, putting a calming hand on Stiles’ shoulder. 

“Sweetheart, Derek wants to help. Don’t push him away.” Stiles’ grip on the plates slackened. Derek cleared the table while Stiles went to work rinsing and stacking things in the dishwasher while Madeline went to change out the laundry. 

“Do you not really like Chicken Parm?” Derek asked nonchalantly. Stiles looked at him, confused. “You barely touched it.” 

“No, I like it, it’s just... uh,” Stiles sniffed, rubbing his nose against his shoulder since his hands were wet and soapy, as if he had an itch, “it was my dad’s favorite and Greg just...” Stiles sighed, looking out the window at him. “He just ruins everything.” 

“How do you mean?” Derek asked. Stiles shrugged, shaking his head. Derek clenched his jaw, sighing. He let it drop. 

“You didn’t need to help him with the dishes, you are our guest,” Greg said as he walked back inside, smelling of smoke. Stiles gnawed on his bottom lip, ignoring him as best he could. Derek was standing between them and he could practically feel the tension, could probably cut it with a knife. 

“I don’t mind at all. Beats doing them alone,” he said, starting to dry the pots and pans that Stiles was hand washing. Greg eyed them both, but walked into the den, turning on the TV. Derek could hear Stiles’ shallow breathing, could see his hands shaking slightly. He was scared. Derek didn’t want to leave, he didn’t want to leave Stiles here. Before Derek knew it, the dishes were done. Derek stood in the kitchen, staring at Stiles who had his arms wrapped around himself as he looked back at Derek. 

“My bike is in your trunk.”

“My clothes are still in the dryer.” 

They stood in silence for a moment, the only sound was Greg’s light snoring from the recliner, and the slow murmur of the tv. 

“Do you... want to see my room?” Stiles asked. “We don’t have to whisper in there.” Derek nodded, following him. Stiles didn’t shut his door, leaving it cracked open as Derek looked around. Above his desk were shelves that had books and pictures. There were pictures of he, Madeline, and the Sheriff. It seemed like Stiles had all of them, or what was left, all framed and set up nicely along with his books. 

“What was he like?” Stiles asked, picking at an invisible blemish on his desk, not looking at Derek. Derek licked his lips, sighing. 

“He... was my mentor,” he started. “He let me volunteer before I went into the academy, he took me under his wing. He was teaching me the ropes when-” Stiles gulped, looking up at Derek. “I had just been accepted into the force, not even a few weeks prior to it. He brought me a cupcake.” Stiles laughed. “He did, I am serious.” Stiles leaned in towards Derek as if on instinct. Derek’s hand went around Stiles’ shoulder, resting there. Stiles wiped at his eyes as his head rest on Derek’s shoulder. “He talked about you all the time.” Stiles sniffed. “There was this time you got in a fight at school, and he had to go to the principal's office. When he came back he was so mad, but not at you, because you had a busted lip.” Derek’s thumb rubbed against Stiles’ shoulder absentmindedly as he told the story, “he ranted to me for a good ten minutes about damned kids hurting you.” Stiles’s face contorted and Derek could tell he was having a hard time holding back tears. “He never wanted anyone to hurt you.” Stiles shifted, turning towards Derek, letting Derek put his arms around Stiles. Stiles’ face buried itself between Derek’s shoulder and neck as Derek held him. “Stiles-” 

Derek took a step back suddenly, hearing heavy footsteps walking down the hall. Stiles gasped at the sudden lack of contact, his eyes wide as the door opened and Greg appeared. 

“Oh, you’re still here.” 

“My clothes are in the dryer.” Derek supplied. Greg looked from Stiles to Derek, his eyes narrowing. 

“I’ll have Madeline check on them, Stiles you have a lot of homework don’t you? You didn’t finish before dinner.” Stiles shook his head. 

“I didn’t have time to, I had to go to the store-”

“No excuses, you know you are to be finished before dinner.” Stiles bit his lip, his fists clenching as he nodded. 

“I know.” Greg nodded once, then walked down the hall. 

“Strict,” was all that Derek said. Stiles nodded solemnly, his hand reaching up and scratching the back of his neck. Derek took a step forward, his thumb wiping across Stiles’ cheek. Stiles flinched, but calmed down when he realized that Derek wiped away a tear. Stiles cleared his throat. 

“I, uh... thanks for telling me about my dad. I don’t... I don’t remember much.” 

“Any time,” Derek whispered as he heard the buzzer to the dryer go off. “Any time.”


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles barely heard Derek’s car leave, barely started on his homework when Greg burst in. Stiles jumped, not expecting it. 

“What were you two doing in here?” He asked, rage filling his voice. Stiles shook his head, shrugging through the fear. Greg grabbed him by the front of his shirt, lifting him to his feet. 

“My dad, we were talking about my dad,” Stiles let out, his hands gripping Greg’s wrists, trying to pry his hands off of him. 

“Why?” Greg asked. “Why did you invite him here, into my house, without my permission?” Stiles’ body shook. 

“I don’t know.” Stiles was backhanded as Greg still held onto him. “Because he drove me home, because he offered to drive me through the rain, because I was grateful, because he was nice to me, because he cares-” another smack. 

“No one cares about you, Stiles. Least of all him. He has a life, he has a job. He doesn’t care about some dead Sheriff’s son,” Greg yelled, tossing Stiles onto his bed. Stiles curled up, covering his head with his arms as he felt Greg roll him onto his back. Stiles pushed outwards, fighting against Greg’s strength. He kicked him, sending Greg back momentarily, clutching his side. His eyes wide, Stiles got off the bed and bolted for the door. He grabbed the handle in time to grip it tight as Greg reached for him, yanking him back by his shirt collar. “Don’t you fucking run from me,” he roiled. Stiles fought, though, as Greg pulled him closer, Stiles fell to his knees, slithering out of his shirt, scrambling to get away from him. Greg cornered him by his closet, Stiles on sitting on the ground in his jeans and socks, panting for breath. Greg loomed over him, his nostrils flaring. He reached down, grabbing Stiles by his foot. Stiles screamed, clawing at the carpet as he was dragged towards the door, towards the basement. 

“No, no, please,” he gasped, holding onto the doorframe as he was pulled through it. Greg yanked him, then Stiles kicked at him once more, aiming at his knee. He got him, good, sending Greg to the ground. Stiles ran towards the door, running out into the pouring rain without shoes or a shirt. He ran. He ran as fast as he could down the street, towards Scott’s. Scott lived two miles away, but he didn’t care. He needed to get to him. He couldn’t go home, not with Greg there, not when he knew what would happen. 

He kicked Greg, he hurt him. He could hurt Greg. Stiles’ heart was beating rapidly and he had a stitch in his side. He leaned against a tree, bent over as he caught his breath. His socks were soaked through and he was shivering. The rain was freezing. He had to move, he had to keep going. Greg could be coming for him, following him. He wrapped his arms around himself as he walked, breathing shallowly. His face hurt and he couldn’t feel his fingertips and his jeans were water logged. He turned down a side street, cutting through yards, avoiding streets so that Greg wouldn’t run into him. He made sure no cars were coming as he crossed streets, not wanting anyone to see him. 

He almost made it, when a car came towards him, its headlights blinding him. His breath caught in his throat as it stopped. He was scared that it was Greg, but only for a moment. Only until he saw Laura Hale step out of the car. 

“Stiles?” She called out questioning if it was him or not. Stiles licked his lips, looking around. He was shaking from the adrenaline rush he had from leaving Greg. She disappeared for a moment, grabbing an umbrella then running over to him, leaving her car on and door open. “Stiles, what are you-” She stopped mid sentence, looking at him. Stiles looked down, his mouth open, realizing he was shirtless. Oh, no. Oh, fuck. “Stiles get in the car.” Stiles shook his head. “Stiles, please.” 

“You’re going to, I can’t just-” Stiles started to say. 

“You’re going to catch pneumonia, come on.” Laura said, interrupting Stiles as she walked Stiles to her car, putting him in the passenger seat before running to her side and getting in. “Let’s get you dry.” 

“You aren’t... you aren’t going to just take me home?” Stiles said through chattering teeth. Laura looked at him, frowning. 

“No, I’m not.” Stiles’ shoulders sagged as he relaxed, his head lulling to one side as he closed his eyes, his arms still wrapped around himself. Laura took out her phone, dialing a number. 

“Bro, hey. You need to get to mom and dad’s,” Laura said, keeping her eyes on the road. “I don’t give a flying fuck what you are doing right now,” Stiles flinched at her tone, gulping, hoping that she wasn’t talking to Derek. “I said come to mom and dad’s, don’t tell Derek.” So it wasn’t Derek? Stiles bit his lip, sniffling as he wiped his hand over his face. 

“I should go home, I should just go home.” Tears were falling, he couldn’t stop them. He left his mom, he left his mom with Greg and he would be angry, he would be furious. He was going to take it out on his mom. “Just take me home.” 

“I don’t think I should.” Stiles wiped at his tears, hoping that Laura didn’t catch them considering the was soaking wet. He contemplated rolling out of the car while it was stopped, about running back home and going straight into the basement. He didn’t want Greg to touch his mom. He shouldn’t have fought back. 

It was too late, now. What was done was done. He was going to have to live with what he did. By the time that Laura pulled up to the Hale’s house, she had called her mother and told her that she was bringing over Stiles. She told Stiles to wait until she came around to his side of the car before he got out, so that they could walk under her umbrella into the house. Stiles never felt so embarrassed because as soon as he was out of the car he felt like everyone in the Hale family was staring at him as he walked towards the house. He felt naked, exposed. 

“What happened?” An older man asked, concern written across his face as they stepped inside, closing the door behind them. 

“I found him running in the rain.” 

“Did you get in a fight?” A woman asked, offering Stiles a towel that he wrapped around his shoulders. Stiles didn’t answer, but looked around. They must be Derek’s parents, along with his older brother, the one who had the kids at the pizza place. He pulled the towel in closer, tighter. He moved his mouth as if to talk, but nothing came out. His mother was alone with Greg, she was alone and he left her there. 

“I need to go home,” he whispered. 

“How about we get you dry, and then we’ll get you home.” Stiles nodded. He was freezing. “John, why don’t you take Stiles upstairs and show him Derek’s old room, I am sure there will be something in there he can fit into. And be sure to get in the shower, love, a warm shower.” Stiles nodded as John lead him up the stairs. He turned his head to see Laura and Mrs. Hale speaking in hushed tones. This was a mistake, this was a horrible mistake. 

“Here, you can go through these things, none of them fit him anymore,” John said as they walked into Derek’s childhood room, opening the drawers of the dresser. Stiles looked around, soaking in what he saw. “The bathroom is the second door on the left, as well.” Stiles nodded. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. John smiled at him, but it was a sad smile. Stiles hated that look, the look of pity. He gnawed at his bottom lip as he looked through Derek’s things, picking out a shirt and a pair of track bottoms that looked like they would fit. He took them into the bathroom with him, locking the door. When he dropped the towel, his eyes shot up to the mirror. His reflection shouted back at him, his bruises standing out against his pale skin. Tinted greens and yellows, the outline was apparent where he had been kicked the last time, other bruises, too, were faded but obvious. He bit back a gasp as he looked at his face, swollen, his lip once again busted. He closed his eyes, dropping the towel to the floor. 

“Fuck.” 

He got in the shower, turning it up as hot as he could stand it. He didn’t stay in long, just long enough that he could feel his fingers again, his toes. When he got off and dried off, he put Derek’s clothes on, reveling in the feeling of warm, dry clothes on his body. Reveling in the fact that they were Derek’s. Stiles blushed as he looked in the mirror once more. They were a tad bit too big, but he was comfortable. He felt safe. Stiles’ breath caught in his throat as he thought of the word _safe_. 

“There is no such thing as safe,” he said to himself as he gathered his soaking wet clothes, rolling them up in his wet towel. He walked back into Derek’s room, opening drawers as he looked for socks. His feet were freezing, and he wanted a long sleeved shirt as well, something warm, that covered him up. He wanted to be covered, fully. In Derek’s closet was an old hoddie, well worn, well loved. Stiles pulled it on, putting the hood up as he looked around the room. It was painted blue, his bed made perfectly, his things placed just so. It was obvious that Derek no longer lived in the room, but it was dusted and kept like a teenager’s room would be. Stiles was about to walk out when a picture caught his eye, one on the dresser. It was of Derek and his father. Stiles’ eyes widened as he picked it up, his thumb rubbing across it. 

“That was taken on the day Derek was inducted,” a voice rang out. Stiles jumped, dropping the picture onto the dresser with a loud clang. “Didn’t mean to startle you, dear,” Mrs. Hale whispered, walking into the room. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles muttered, righting the picture. There was that sad smile, again. Stiles shoved his hands into the pocket of the hoodie, burying his nose into the collar instinctively. He flinched as her hand went to his back, rubbing it. 

“Nothing to be sorry about, I promise you. Why don’t we sit?” She asked, offering him Derek’s bed. Stiles sat without a word, looking down at his feet. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” She asked. Stiles shook his head. 

“I just want to go home, to my mom.” 

“We can take you home, Stiles, if that is what you really want.” Stiles refused to look up. 

“I think that-” there was a commotion downstairs as the front door opened. Mrs. Hale looked up, as if hearing what was happening when all that Stiles could hear were murmurs and then suddenly there were loud thumps as someone ran up the stairs. Within seconds Derek appeared in the doorway, panting. Stiles stood, the hood falling down. 

“What happened?” He asked, stepping into the room. Mrs. Hale stood as well, her hand on Stiles’ shoulders. 

“Derek, calm down.” Derek’s hands were in fists and Stiles trembled, scared. He looked scary, he looked like he was going to attack. “You’re scaring him,” she soothed. “His heart is beating so fast it might explode.” Something about her voice was calming, made him relax a little, just a little bit. “Go downstairs if you can’t get a hold of yourself.” Derek took another step forward and Stiles took a step back, his knees hitting the bed. He sat down without wanting to, his hands clutching at the comforter. 

“What happened?” Derek asked again. Stiles shook his head, his chest heaving, one foot up on the bed, as if he was about to try to get away. 

“Derek Christopher Hale, go downstairs this instant.” Derek shrunk back, anger leaving him. 

“But-” 

“You aren’t helping.” Stiles looked up at Mrs. Hale, then back to Derek. Derek looked upset. 

“Mom-”

“Derek, don’t go,” Stiles uttered, putting his foot back down on the floor. Mrs. Hale looked down at him, frowning. Derek suddenly looked smaller, like less of a threat. It was as if he had somehow morphed, for a minute, into something bigger, scarier. Stiles licked his lips as he watched Derek walk forward, kneeling down in front of him, a hand resting on the bed next to Stiles’ leg. 

“I just left you, though.” Stiles nodded, feeling tears building up. He looked up at the ceiling, trying to stop them. He was so weak, so scared. He needed to go save his mom from Greg. 

“Can you take me home, please,” Stiles murmured. Derek shook his head, his fist clenching the comforter. 

“I don’t think I should.” Stiles laughed, shaking his head as he wiped his eyes. 

“I don’t care, I need to go home, I need to go home.” Derek looked at the ground, then at his mom. 

“Can you just tell me-”

“No, I can’t. You don’t, you don’t understand. I _need_ to go home.” 

“Explain it to me,” Derek said, sounding upset, so upset and Stiles didn’t understand, he couldn’t fathom why Derek would be so upset. Stiles looked to Mrs. Hale. 

“I know what you need, love. You need some tea, that will warm you right up,” She whispered, her hand raking gently through Stiles’ hair as she walked towards the door. Stiles looked down at Derek’s hand, it was so close to his leg, so close to his own hand. Stiles picked at the comforter, his breath hitching in his throat as he calmed himself down from thinking about his mom, about Greg. 

“Please take me home,” he said, barely audible. 

“What will happen if I do?” Derek asked. Stiles shut his eyes, his jaw clenching. Stiles gasped when he felt Derek’s hand over his, Derek’s thumb caressing his hand. 

“Nothing,” Stiles shuddered, opening his eyes and looking down at Derek’s hand on his. 

“Don’t lie to a cop, Stiles,” Stiles let out a short laugh, sniffing back his emotions. He shook his head, refusing to say anything. If he told Derek anything, he would be dead. His mother would be dead. 

“I’m... not.” 

“Can I see, Stiles?” Derek asked. Stiles shook his head. He didn’t want Derek to see his bruises, that would be damning. That would be the end of him. “I don’t want to take you back there.” 

“Then I’ll walk.” 

“No.”

“You aren’t the boss of me, you can’t keep me here.” Derek growled, his fingers intertwining with Stiles’. 

“Stiles, let me help you.” 

“You can’t.” 

Mrs. Hale reappeared, carrying tea. Stiles pulled his hand away from Derek’s, scratching the back of his neck and clearing his throat. 

“I want you two to come downstairs, Stiles, we are going to call your mother to let her know where you are.” Stiles’ jaw opened in shock. Derek helped him up as they walked down the stairs, leading them into the kitchen. Derek stood next to Stiles, calming his beating heart. He said his number, letting Mr. Hale dial it, putting the receiver up to his own ear, listening to it ring. Stiles leaned back so that his back was pressed against Derek’s chest, his mouth dry. 

 

“Please answer, please answer,” he whispered, mostly to himself. He had set the tea down on the counter, forgotten. 

“Hello, Mr. Morrison?” Mr. Hale asked. Stiles looked to Derek, realizing that when he arrived they knew his name, they had called him Stiles. They knew his stepdad was Greg Morrison. Something seemed odd about that, about how they knew. “Yes, this is Jared Hale, I am calling to tell you that my daughter was out driving in the rain and stumbled across your stepson, Stiles-” Jared stopped for a moment, looking to Stiles, nodding once, “yes, we’ve given him dry clothes, and he has tea, he wants to talk to his mother, though, apparently he got into a fight, but he is alright.” Stiles gulped, his eyes wide. “He just wants to tell his mother that he is alright.” Was Mr. Hale... what was he doing? It sounded like he was trying to cover the fact that they all saw his body, that they all- Mr. Hale handed Stiles the phone.

“Mom?” He asked, his voice cracking. He felt Derek’s hand on his side, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. 

“Stiles, where are you? Are you alright?” She asked, sounding panicked. “I was so worried.”

“Mom, I’m fine, I just...” Stiles looked around, realizing that he couldn’t walk away, couldn’t walk into another room. That was why they brought him into the kitchen. “I got in a fight, and got a bit... lost. I am at the Hale’s, mom.” 

“Oh, thank god. Stay there tonight.” 

“No! Mom, I’ve got to come home, you’re-”

“No, I’ll be alright, Stiles. You stay there if they offer.” Stiles bit his lip, shaking his head over and over. 

“I won’t leave you there, don’t-”

“Rupert Stilinski you stay away from here, do you hear me?” Stiles stopped, stepping back into Derek, his hand landing on Stiles’ hip protectively. Stiles closed his eyes. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered. 

“Now give the phone to Amelia,” His mother demanded. Stiles handed it over, his hands immediately going into the pockets of Derek’s hoodie. Stiles listened to Amelia, Derek’s mom, talk to his. 

“Of course, Madeline, we’d love it if he spent the night, it isn’t a problem at all. It has been a long time since we had a full house, not an issue. Have a good night, now.” With that the phone conversation was over, but Stiles was no where near calm. He was shaking, knowing that his mother was about to go through hell, for him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of feelings about this chapter. (I feel like this should be a subtitle to this entire fic.)
> 
> Thank you to lsdme, as always, for beta'ing and for your bolded comments as you read. They give me life, and they are the reason I am writing this fic because this fic... is eating my soul. 
> 
> All comments are greatly (and I am serious) appreciated because this is my first h/c fic and I quite literally do not know what I am doing.

Once the phone was back on the hook, Stiles let out a long breath that he hadn’t even realized that he had been holding while Amelia talked to his mom. There was silence, for a moment, everyone not being able to decide what they wanted to do now that Stiles was spending the night. 

“Derek, I assume you are staying the night as well?” Amelia asked. Derek nodded, his fingers strumming against Stiles’ waist. Stiles blushed, forgetting that Derek’s hand was still on him. He took a step away from him instinctively. Derek’s hand dropped as if it meant nothing. Amelia looked to Laura. “And you? Are you staying?” 

“My electricity is still off, so-” Derek scoffed. “Shut up, look at you over there all-”

“Laura Christine Hale,” Amelia said sternly. Laura shut her mouth, glaring at her little brother. Stiles looked back to Derek, who looked like he wanted to murder his sister. “Since you and Derek are spending the night here, Derek will have to sleep on the couch.” Derek said nothing, as if he expected as much. Stiles shook his head. 

“Why can’t Derek sleep in his own room?” Stiles asked. Amelia gave him that sad smile again, Stiles took a step towards Derek again. He felt safer there. 

“Because that is where you are staying, dear.” Stiles frowned. “Don’t worry, Derek has slept in worse places than the rec room’s couch.” 

“It’s true, besides I have to go in later, I’ve got third shift.” Stiles bit his lip and sighed. “You better sleep in tomorrow, too.” Derek teased, knocking his arm against Stiles’. Stiles smiled, looking around the kitchen. The entire Hale family was watching them. His smile faded as quickly as it had appeared, them watching him was eerie, like they were waiting for something. 

“Well I am going to head out, I’ve got some pup- children to take care of,” John said, kissing his mother good bye on the cheek. Stiles watched as she and Jared said goodnight to him, both hugging him goodbye. His shoulders sagged, pining for something like that in his own life. All he had was his mother grabbing his wrist for mere seconds, her taking care of his cuts that he couldn’t reach. And Derek’s hug. Stiles chewed on his inner lip, thinking about their hug, about Derek and him holding hands. What was going on, exactly? 

“I’ve got some laundry to get started,” Amelia said, clapping her hands. “Jared, care to help?” 

“Of course, dear.” 

Laura was leaning against the kitchen counter, looking at Stiles and Derek with curious eyes. 

“So what are you two going to do?” She asked. 

“I, uh...” 

“Tomorrow is Saturday, you know, you could go see a movie-”

“Laura,” Derek said, his tone a warning. 

“Or you could go, I don’t know-”

“Laura.”

“What is there to do around here? Go out and get coffee-”

“Laura shut up.” Stiles was watching them, the tension slowly rising in the room, mostly from Derek’s end as Laura stood there, smug. 

“I don’t really want to go anywhere, I’m wearing... Derek’s clothes.” Laura and Derek exchanged glances. Stiles would pay money to be in Derek’s head, to know what he was thinking.

“You look good in them, I think.”

“Come on, Stiles, we’ll watch a movie upstairs,” Derek said, glaring at Laura as he grasped Stiles’ wrist, guiding him up the back set of stairs that led into the rec room. Stiles let himself be lead. He sat down on the couch, tucking his legs up on the two seater. In the corner was a three seater, but there were already pillows and blankets set on top of it for Derek, for later. Derek grabbed the remote, then joined Stiles on the couch, sighing. 

“What do you want to watch?” Derek asked. Stiles shrugged, stuffing his hands into the front pocket of the hoodie again, his fingers interlocking. “What’s wrong?” Derek asked, his hand on the back of the couch. Stiles thought, for a moment, that maybe it would drop down, maybe he could put his arm around him- 

Why the fuck would he do that? 

“What isn’t wrong?” Stiles asked, bitterness coating his words. Derek remained quiet, the TV forgotten about. “I didn’t finish my homework, I didn’t bring my meds, I left my mom at home, you can’t even stay in your own bed because of me, you have work tonight, when I wake up you aren’t going to be here... why am I even here, Derek?” Stiles asked. “Why, why would your family take me in?” Then it happened. Derek’s arm dropped down, wrapping around Stiles’ shoulder tenderly. Stiles shut his eyes as he shivered against the touch. When he opened his eyes again, Derek was looking at him, his lips parted. 

“They took you in, because I am worried about you.” Stiles looked away, he couldn’t look Derek in the eye. “You’re here because Laura found you shirtless by a road in the pouring down rain not even ten minutes after I left you.” 

“Why do you care- I mean, you don’t need to- this doesn’t have anything to do with you,” Stiles couldn’t say that Derek cared, because Greg was right. Why would Derek care about him? He was just some kid whose stepdad beat on him, he wasn’t anything special. He wasn’t anything. 

“If your father knew what was happening, and if he knew I didn’t do anything about it...” Derek sighed. “I care Stiles, I care a lot. And most of it has nothing to do with your dad.” Stiles looked back at Derek, confused. 

“I’m not worth all of this, though,” Stiles whispered. 

“Yes, you are.” Stiles made a face, but then Derek did the unexpected: he kissed him. Stiles gasped, his hands pulling out of the hoodie, his palms pressing against Derek’s chest as he pushed back, his body twisting so he was sitting perpendicular to Derek, his feet against Derek’s thighs. 

“What the fuck?” Stiles asked, his chest heaving. He had never been kissed, never felt so... safe. Derek was radiating heat and he had liked it, and Derek had his hand on him and he didn’t know how to react except to reject it completely. 

“I’m sorry-”

“No,” Stiles said, sinking back onto the couch. “I mean,” he rubbed his head, wishing he had hair to grip but he kept his hair short so Greg couldn’t yank it. He swallowed, looking at Derek, his eyes wide. “You can’t like me.” 

“Why not?” Derek asked, calm. 

“Because,” Stiles started, but he couldn’t think of anything. “Because I said so.” Derek raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t look at me like that.” Derek’s hand found Stiles’, and he relaxed. He let Derek’s fingers intertwine with his. Derek pulled him forward, and Stiles put his head against Derek’s shoulder, his hand grasping at the fabric of Derek’s shirt. Stiles sighed, closing his eyes as he listened to Derek’s heart, he felt it. They sat there, in silence. Eventually, Stiles’ eyes fluttered shut. 

Derek was keenly aware of everything. His senses were alight, alive and buzzing at the fact that Stiles had his scent all over him, that Stiles was asleep against him. Derek didn’t want to move him, but he knew that he had to leave soon, even though he didn’t want to. Derek shifted and Stiles woke up immediately, pulling back from him as if startled. 

“What... what happened?” He asked, his voice scratchy. 

“You fell asleep, it is late, time to actually get into a bed.” Derek stood, offering out a hand to help Stiles up. Stiles took it, his fingers lingering for a second before he let go once he was up, as if he was starved for attention. As if no one ever deliberately touched him in a tender manner. It made Derek ache, it made him angry, it made him want to snap Greg in two. Derek lead Stiles down the hall to his old room. Stiles pulled back the sheets, climbing in, pulling off the hoodie. In doing so, his shirt hiked up just enough that Derek saw the remains of a bruise. His blood boiled but he didn’t react fast enough before Stiles crawled into the bed, pushing himself as close to the edge as he could. 

“Did you, um, how much time do you have before you need to go?” Stiles asked. Derek sat down, his back against the headboard. 

“I’ve got time, still.” Stiles tugged on Derek’s shirt lightly. 

“Come down here, then,” he whispered, gulping. He was scared, scared of Derek rejecting him. Derek slid down immediately, joining Stiles beneath the covers. Stiles brushed his nose against Derek’s shoulder, closing his eyes. “You’re so warm.” 

“I run a bit hot,” Derek whispered, a hand reaching up and cupping Stiles’ face. Stiles leaned into it, which made Derek suck in a breath sharply. Being in bed with him, was difficult. Restraint was damned near impossible and Derek just wanted to-

Derek kissed him, again. This time, though, Stiles didn’t push away. Instead he opened his mouth, moaning, bringing himself forward, pressing his body against Derek’s. Derek broke the kiss, burying his face against Stiles’ neck, smelling him, taking in his scent as it mixed with his own. It was intoxicating. Stiles grabbed onto Derek’s shirt, his own face pressing against Derek’s shoulder. Derek lay there, his arms wrapping around Stiles’ fragile frame, holding him. Stiles shifted, moving onto his back, pulling Derek on top of him, their lips crashing together once more. Derek’s hands moved from cupping Stiles’ face to his arms, to his waist, his thighs. Stiles spread his legs so that Derek fit between them, moaning as Derek rut against him. Derek backed up, holding himself up away from Stiles who lay beneath him, panting. 

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked, his voice shaking, his hands on his own stomach. His face was flushed and Derek could smell his arousal. It made him throb between his own legs. 

“Nothing, I just...” Derek moved a hand, slipping it beneath Stiles’ shirt, his fingers teasing against the edge of Stiles’ sweatpants. Stiles bit his lip, his breath shuddering. Derek bent down, pressing his nose against the fabric of Stiles’ shirt, mouthing over it as his hand slid upwards, teasing at a nipple. Stiles’ back arched, his hand reaching for Derek’s hair as he widened his thighs, his knees in the air as Derek practically laid between his legs. Derek moved Stiles’ shirt up a few inches, placing his mouth against sensitive skin. Stiles gasped, unable to hold back a moan as Derek’s tongue dipped into the crevice of Stiles’ hip bone, licking up to his belly button. A few more inches, then a few more. Derek’s hand slid up and down Stiles’ stomach, across his chest. It wasn’t until his shirt was practically to his chin that he reacted, his brain finally catching up. 

“Derek, no,” he said, his voice firm, aghast as he sat up against the headboard. The light was off, but Derek could see perfectly fine as Stiles shoved his shirt down. He saw them, how covered he was, the faded bruises showing up for him in the dark. Stiles gasped, covering his mouth. Derek closed his eyes, knowing that Stiles saw his eyes flash, especially in the dark. 

“Your eyes-”

“It’s nothing.” 

“It is not!” Stiles screamed. “That wasn’t natural, Derek, what happened?” He asked. “Why would you do that to me, when you knew-” Stiles voice trembled. “I trusted you.” 

“I needed to see-”

“And you fucking saw, didn’t you? Did you get a good look?” He asked, getting out of the bed, turning on the light. “Do you even care, did you even think about what you were doing?” Derek shrunk back, looking away from Stiles. “You kissed me thinking I would be okay with... with you using that to look at me?” 

“No.”

“Then why?” 

“I had to know if he was hurting you,” Derek growled. Stiles stood up straight, his eyes wide. “I need to know, Stiles. I can help you-”

“You can’t help me!” Stiles screamed. “You aren’t helping me, Derek! You caring about me isn’t helping me, you touching me isn’t helping... it’s making it worse!” Derek got up, walking over to him. Stiles pushed him away. “Don’t touch me, Derek.” 

Derek recoiled as if slapped. 

“You’re making it worse,” Stiles whispered, running his hands over his face, walking around the room. “You, you think you know something... and your sister picks me up and I leave my mom at home and you think... I don’t even know what you are thinking but there is no way you care about me.” 

“Stiles-”

“Stop, just stop.” Derek shifted, his face turning towards the door. He put his finger up to his lips, knowing that they had woken up the whole house. Everyone heard them. Stiles bit his lip, looking towards the door. “You are telling me why your eyes glowed blue.” 

“I can’t tell you,” Derek whispered, despite it not mattering. Everyone could hear him anyways. 

“You expect me to trust you if you can’t tell me?” Derek glared at Stiles, his shoulders sagging. 

“I didn’t mean to lift your shirt-” Stiles shook his head, his arms wrapping around his torso protectively. “I got carried away, my instincts kicked in, I couldn’t stop-” Derek sighed. “I couldn’t stop myself.” 

The fire went out of Stiles’ eyes as he kept worrying at his bottom lip. 

“Why did you kiss me?” Stiles asked, sounding broken. Derek never wanted Stiles to sound like that when directed at him. It hurt him, wounded him that he made Stiles upset. 

“Because I like you,” Derek said, taking a step towards him. Stiles took a step back, letting Derek know he was scared, cornered. Derek retreated to the bed, sitting on the edge of it, giving Stiles space. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you, worrying about you.” There it was. Derek laid himself out in front of Stiles, offering him his feelings. Stiles stood there, looking at his hands, shifting his weight from foot to foot, swallowing. 

“That doesn’t make sense,” he whispered. Derek shrugged. 

“Does it need to?” He asked. Stiles looked up at him, then. 

“I’m going home tomorrow.”

“I know,” Derek whispered. “Your mom.” Stiles nodded, walking forward, walking towards Derek. Derek held his breath as Stiles brought a hand up to his face, pressing his palm against Derek’s cheek. Stiles’ lips were parted as he looked down at him, his hand dropping. 

“Are your eyes hereditary?” Stiles asked. Derek clenched his jaw, looking away from him. “They are, aren’t they?” Derek’s nostrils flared, as he took out his phone. 

“What is your phone number?” He asked. Stiles raised his eyebrows. “I’ve got to go to work, but I want your number so you can have mine incase you need me. For anything.” Stiles rattled off his number for Derek. He watched Derek text it, then put his phone away as he stood up. Stiles took a step back to get out of Derek’s personal space. Derek brought his hands up, placing them on Stiles’ arms, stopping him. Stiles flinched, but relaxed when he realized that Derek wasn’t going to hurt him. 

“I want you to call me if something happens,” Derek whispered. Stiles looked up at him, nodding slightly. 

“Okay.”

“I mean it, Stiles.” 

“And I said okay.” 

“Get some sleep,” Derek said, his voice soft, low. Stiles nodded, his hands coming up, wrapping around Derek’s wrists. 

“I will,” Stiles said, moving forward, moving Derek’s hands, wrapping them around himself as he hugged Derek. Derek was surprised by the action, but held him there, pressing his lips against Stiles’ forehead. Derek felt Stiles’ muscles relax against him, as if he gave in to Derek’s advances, despite his mistake on the bed. At least now he knew, he knew the extent of what Greg was capable of. He knew how broken Stiles was. “I don’t want you to go,” Stiles confessed. 

“Believe me, work is the last place I want to be right now.” Derek shifted, moving Stiles back into bed. “But I’ve got to go... drive around in my car for an obscene amount of time.” Stiles crawled into the bed, sighing. 

“We aren’t done talking about your family trait.” Derek glared at him. “I am serious.” 

“So am I.” 

“I’m not scared of you,” Stiles said, meaning it. Derek leaned over him. 

“Good, you shouldn’t be.” He kissed him, then, once more on the lips, then walked out of the room. His sister was waiting on the other side, leaning against the door. 

“That was an interesting lover’s spat.” 

“I don’t have time for you,” Derek said, walking down the stairs.

“It is bad, isn’t it?” She asked. Derek stopped just as he reached the bottom. “His torso-”

“Yeah, it’s bad.”


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles woke up to a knock on the door. He bolted upright, panicked for a moment because he wasn’t in his own bed. 

“Are you up, dear?” Amelia asked, poking her head in the door. Stiles rubbed his eyes, nodding as he stretched. Amelia smiled, coming in. “I washed your things,” she said, putting them at the edge of the bed.Stiles looked at them, his hands wrapped around his body, frowning. The thought of wearing his own clothes made his heart race, for some reason. “Derek said, if you wanted anything of his, you were welcome to it.” Stiles looked up at her, his mouth parted in surprise. She tilted her head, smiling. It wasn’t the sad smile from the night before, but more genuine, more... motherly. Stiles’ mom didn’t smile like that, ever. “What do you want for breakfast?” She asked. “Mr. Hale and myself have already eaten but we could wake up Laura, she makes delicious pancakes.” Stiles swallowed, looking down at his lap. 

“I think I should just go home,” Stiles whispered. “If that’s alright?”

“Of course it’s alright, dear. I didn’t want to send you home on an empty stomach.” 

“Thank you for letting me stay here.” 

“Oh, it was our pleasure, believe me.” Stiles nodded as she made her way to the door, his stomach rumbling from hunger. She smiled at him, lifting an eyebrow. “You get dressed and I’ll wake up Laura. Pancakes and then we’ll take you home.” Stiles smiled, relieved. He was so worried about his mom that he thought he might throw up, maybe eating something would, in fact, help. He grabbed his things, along with a clean shirt of Derek’s, then made his way to the bathroom. There was a toothbrush set out for him, still in its wrapper. He brushed his teeth, then got dressed. He put Derek’s clothes in a hamper in the laundry room which was upstairs, then walked back into Derek’s room to make the bed. He noticed the discarded hoodie and bit his lip, looking down at it. He grabbed it, throwing it on once more. It felt like he was being engulfed by Derek. It was soft, worn, and smelled like him, like his room. Stiles buried his nose against the collar as he walked down the stairs, finding his way to the kitchen. 

“You know, when he was younger, he never took that hoodie off.” Laura said, grinning as she stood by the stove in her pajamas. Stiles sat on a stool at the bar, watching her. “That thing must be comfortable as all get out.” 

“It is,” Stiles whispered, hiding his hands in the sleeves as he put his head in his hands, held up by his elbows. “I may never take it off.” Laura nodded slightly, her smile transforming into a small, corner of the mouth smile: a knowing smile. Stiles cleared his throat. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Laura shook her head, then looked at him. 

“You could pour us drinks... I like orange juice.” Stiles grinned, hopping off of the stool looking around for the cupboard that held the glasses. He found them over the dishwasher, then poured Laura orange juice and milk for himself. “Do you have a match today?” She asked. Stiles nodded. 

“Late this afternoon, yeah, but I’m probably not going to play.” 

“Ah, I wouldn’t say that,” Laura said, moving pancakes onto two plates for them. Stiles put their drinks on the table where butter and syrup were already waiting for them. “Bobby said he has been watching you in practice.” 

“Bobby?” Stiles asked. “You know Coach Finstock?” 

“I do, actually. We’re ah, semi-dating.” Stiles raised his eyebrows. “I know, crazy, right? He is... so.. insane.” She grinned. “Just like I like them.” Stiles laughed. 

“Maybe you can even him out a bit,” Stiles joked. 

After breakfast, Laura changed and Stiles said goodbye to Jared and Amelia, both of them hugging him. Stiles couldn’t remember the last time that had ever happened. But then they were on the way to his house, to his mom. Laura was silent during the car ride, with the music up. Stiles’ foot bounced absentmindedly as he slouched down in the car seat. 

“Laura?” He asked. She turned down the music just enough so she could hear him. 

“Yeah?” She asked, looking at him only for a second, then back to the road. 

“Uh- nevermind. It was stupid.” 

“Oh, no. That is a pet peeve of mine. Out with it.” Stiles sighed. 

“Derek’s eyes, I mean,” Stiles licked his lips. “Do yours glow too?” Laura didn’t so much as flinch. 

“Sometimes.” 

“Why?” He asked. She tilted her head, thinking. Stiles waited. He wanted to know, needed to know. 

“Multiple reasons,” she smiled. “But I have a feeling Derek’s did because he was upset, angry.” Stiles bit his lip. “Am I right?” 

“I mean, it happened when he... saw my, um-”

“Ah,” Laura said, knowing Stiles didn’t want to talk about it. “I mean, it’s just hereditary. He just needs to reign in his emotions a bit better.” 

“Why?” Stiles asked. They pulled up to the house, staying in the car a bit longer. Laura looked at Stiles, her hands on the steering wheel. 

“If your eyes glowed would you want people knowing? Really?” Stiles nodded, understanding. “Talk about a hard puberty, believe me.” Stiles laughed. He knew there was something Laura wasn’t telling him, but she was more open about it then Derek was. His face fell as he got out of the car and looked towards the door, taking a deep breath. “Do you want me to-”

“No, no. I can go in myself, thanks.” 

“Did Derek give you his number?” Laura asked. Stiles nodded, scratching the back of his neck. 

“I don’t know if I got it, because I left my phone here yesterday, or even if I’ll have it... I am pretty sure it will be taken- anyways. Thanks.” Laura looked like she didn’t want to let him go, but she nodded, smiling. 

“No problem, Stiles, see you at the game.” Stiles nodded. At least he had something to look forward to. 

Stiles walked inside, scared for what he would find. His mother was in the kitchen. When she saw him enter, she smiled. She was fine. She was okay. Stiles teared up, walking over to his mom and hugging her. 

“Mom, I was so scared,” he whispered as she wrapped her arms around him. 

“Shh, it’s okay.” Stiles sniffled back his emotions, but didn’t let her go. “Greg wants to talk with you, though.” Stiles stiffened, taking a step back from his mom. “It is about Derek, he wants to know if you’ve been talking with him-”

“What?” Stiles asked, his fists clenched. “No, I haven’t told-”

“Sweetheart, calm down,” Madeline whispered. “I wish you stayed at the Hale’s longer.”

“I had to come home, I had to make sure you were okay.” 

“I’m fine-”

“I don’t believe you,” Stiles said, outright. He felt her flinch when they hugged, he knew well what she was feeling and it angered him. She wasn’t supposed to be hurt, he was. “This is such shit, mom.” 

“Stiles, hush your mouth,” Madeline snapped. Stiles clenched his jaw. He was right last night, Derek had made things worse for him. He made him believe, for a moment, that he could help them. He couldn’t. His mother had been hurt and his life was still a living hell. “If Greg heard you-”

“So you finally decided to show up,” Greg’s voice boomed. Stiles jumped, stepping in front of his mother as if he could guard her. “I’ve got yard work for you to do, and you didn’t finish your homework before you left. You’re still grounded, so consider you running off as a breach in that.” Stiles gulped at how calm Greg was acting. “I’ve got half a mind to tell you that you are off the lacrosse team but I’m not going to,” Stiles was breathing quickly, shallowly, waiting for a blow, bracing himself for it. “If you don’t mow the lawn before lacrosse, you aren’t going.” Greg walked past him, going outside to smoke. Stiles was shaking. Greg wasn’t acting like himself and Stiles was put off by it, not sure what would happen. In a way, not knowing was worse, much worse. 

He changed his clothes, then mowed the lawn as fast as he could. He made a sandwich for lunch, then showered before the match because he was dirty and covered in little bits of cut grass, which he hated. He didn’t even think to check his phone until he was changing for the match. Derek’s text was there from the night before, letting Stiles know it was him. A call from Scott was missed, and a text asking where he was. Stiles sighed, texting Scott back that his phone had died, that he would be at the match. He was about to put his phone down when it began to ring. He jumped, answering it immediately so that Greg wouldn’t hear it. 

“Yeah?” He asked, whispering into the receiver. 

“Stiles,” it was Derek and Stiles melted, falling onto his bed as he closed his eyes. “Laura told me she dropped you off, I just wanted to see if things were alright.” 

“Things are weird,” Stiles whispered. 

“Weird how?” Stiles shrugged, despite the fact that he knew that Derek couldn’t see him. 

“Weird, like,” Stiles sighed audibly. “Like, okay. This is going to sound stupid but... he didn’t do anything about me running away last night.” 

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Derek asked. Stiles shook his head. 

“No, I don’t think it is. It is like he is waiting...” Stiles heard footsteps, heavy ones, walking towards his door. “I’ve got to go,” he said in a rush, tossing his phone away from him just as the door opened. 

“Are you ready?” Greg asked. Stiles nodded, grabbing his phone from where he just threw it and placed it in his duffle bag. They got in the car, alone. 

“Where’s mom?” Stiles asked. 

“She’s not coming today, I am just dropping you off. I’ve got errands to run. I’ll be back to pick you up as soon as the match is over.” Stiles nodded, looking down at his hands. “You know what’s coming, don’t you?” Greg asked. Again, Stiles nodded. Oh, he knew. He knew what was coming. Greg had waited only because of the game, the fact that Stiles had to be in public. That was his reasoning behind his restraint. Stiles felt numb, like breathing was not necessary. He sat in silence, knowing that when he got back in the car after the match, he would be beaten. It was inevitable and he felt nothing. He wasn’t scared, he wasn’t angry, he just... was. Apathetic, void of emotion. Resigned. 

Greg dropped him off and Stiles stood there for a few minutes, unmoving. He took out his phone, gulping as he dialed Derek’s number. 

“Stiles, are you at the field yet?” Derek asked as soon as he picked up the phone. Stiles looked around.

“Yeah, I’m here.” 

“Where? I just came here straight from work.” Stiles’ heart was beating in his throat. Derek came. 

“Where are you parked? I don’t want to play,” Stiles said, not thinking. Derek told him where he was parked without question. Stiles ran to where Derek was parked. Derek was standing by his car, still in his uniform. Stiles stopped dead in his tracks when he was only a foot away from Derek. 

“What happened?” Derek asked as Stiles shook his head, dropping his bag to the ground. 

“I’m grounded, this is the only two hours I have free until... forever. I wanted to spend it with you instead of sitting on a bench.” Well, it was the truth, sort of. Derek breathed in deeply, his chest puffing up as he looked at Stiles, thinking. 

“Stiles, you have to go to the match.” Stiles frowned, his jaw clenching. 

“I don’t want to.” 

“What is going on, seriously?” Derek asked, looking around at the people around them. Stiles took a step closer to him, wanting to touch him. Stiles shook his head. 

“Nothing, nothing is going on,” Stiles shouted. “Why does something have to be going on? Can’t we just leave? Can’t we just pretend for five minutes that you don’t think I can’t handle myself?” 

“I never said that.”

“Yeah, well. You didn’t need to say it, your face tells me everything.” 

“What is my face telling you, Stiles?” Derek asked. Stiles gnawed on his bottom lip. Why was he fighting with Derek? He wanted to be closer to him, not push him away like he was doing. He knew, though, that when he went home he would be hurt. He just wanted to spend time with Derek, now. 

“You pity me.” 

“No, that’s not it at all. Come on, get in the car.” Stiles grabbed his bag, practically running up to the car. “Where do you want to go?” Derek asked.

“Here, here is fine,” Stiles said.

“Because sitting in a cop car isn’t weird and people won’t talk about it, we’ve got to go somewhere, Stiles.”

“Your place?” Stiles asked, hopeful. Derek shook his head, once. “Why not?” Stiles asked, his brow furrowed. Derek sighed, running his hand across his face.

“Listen, we have to talk about what happened last night.” Stiles frowned. “I took advantage of you, and I shouldn’t have.” Stiles took a deep breath, remaining silent for only a second. 

“So you don’t like me?” Stiles asked.

“That isn’t what I said-”

“You do, then?” Derek gave Stiles a look. “Explain it to me because I am really fucking confused.”

“Not here,” Derek said, starting the car. Stiles reached his hand out tentatively. Derek took it in his, then Stiles relaxed, resting his head against his seat, looking down at their fingers intertwined. He would be okay, he told himself. He would be alright, despite everything going on. At least he hoped he would be.

Once at Derek’s Stiles felt better.

“I’m going to change, you stay here,” Derek said, walking into his room and shutting the door behind him. Stiles contemplated, only for a second, about following him, but thought better of it. He thought back to the night before, about the conversation in the car, about Derek seemingly taking advantage of him. Stiles made a face. He had kissed Derek back, after he got over the initial shock of it. 

“Derek!” Stiles shouted through the door.

“What?” Derek asked, obviously in the middle of changing.

“I forgive you for being a fucking dumbass about lifting my shirt.” The door opened and Derek stood there, his eyebrows lifted. 

“Stiles-”

“No, listen. I am serious, I thought about it all night but I didn’t know how to bring it up, but since you did and you are about to like, I don’t know, tell me that you shouldn’t have kissed me and shit... well I kissed you back.”

“You pushed me away and I shouldn’t-”

“Yeah I did because I thought you were insane... but that is beside the point.”

“What is your point, Stiles?”

“That I don’t want you to stop kissing me?” Stiles asked, sort of. It was a semi-question if there ever was one. Derek’s shoulders slumped. 

“All I can think about was how scared you got and I really, really don’t want to do that to you, ever.” Stiles nodded.

“Well, don’t... lift my shirt.” Stiles said, creasing his brow. “That sounded dumb, but you get what I mean.” Derek nodded, taking a step towards him.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said, his voice low. Stiles lifted his head a bit, wanting to touch his lips to Derek’s. “Are you sure?” Stiles nodded his head, his hands clenching around Derek’s shirt, pulling Derek towards him for a kiss. It was light, tentative, short, but it was all Stiles. Stiles stepped away, smiling. 

“Don’t ask if I am sure again, it makes me sound five.” Derek rolled his eyes. “But I get it, I do.” Stiles took Derek’s hand dragging him to the couch. They sat down and Stiles leaned in once more, this time his hands cupping Derek’s face as they kissed. He just wanted to touch him, to kiss him. He just wanted this, nothing more. More would be too much, would be too hard to leave. Derek grunted as the kiss deepened. They kissed, not moving, until they couldn’t breathe. Derek’s hand was on Stiles’ shoulder, holding him close as Stiles pressed his face against Derek’s chest.

“Is this okay?” Stiles asked. “Just... sitting here?” Derek nodded, his lips pressed against Stiles’ forehead. Stiles felt his entire body throb, wanting more but restraining against it. He just wanted to listen to Derek’s heartbeat, listen to his breathing. He just wanted to stay. “What is... this?” He asked, poking Derek’s chest with a finger, then motioning between them. Derek shrugged.

“That depends,” Derek said, sighing.

“On what?” Stiles asked.

“On what you want from this,” Derek said as he copy-catted the motion that Stiles just did. Stiles thought for a moment. “But what I want? I want to help you.”

“You can’t.” Stiles said, his voice sticking in his throat. If he got out, he would be leaving his mom trapped there. He couldn’t do that to her, he wouldn’t. “Besides, this-” he motioned between them again, “isn’t happening until you tell me what comes with the glowy eyes.” Derek glared at him, but Stiles glared back. 

“I can’t-” Derek started to say but Stiles scoffed.

“Oh? Are you sure about that?”

“Stiles-”

“Take me back to the match, Derek. If you don’t tell me anything about you how am I supposed to spill everything to you? Are you going to get beat if you tell me about you?” Stiles asked, his voice rising. He covered his mouth after he said it, after Derek’s eyes glowed again at the mention of being beaten.

“How often does he beat you?” Derek asked, his voice low, dangerous sounding. Stiles’ nostrils flared.

“Why do your eyes glow when you think about me being hurt?” Stiles asked, his voice cracking.

“You should file a domestic abuse report.” Stiles laughed.

“Oh, yeah good plan. I’ll go do that then go return home. I am sure that would go over really fucking well, don’t you? Or hey, how about I stay over at your house again and let my mom take the brunt of it again-” Derek was sitting up, grabbing onto Stiles’ shoulders. Stiles snapped his eyes shut, curling in on himself as if Derek was going to hit him. It took him a moment to recover, to figure out that he wasn’t.

“Stiles I am serious, there are ways that the law can help you. Your mother could put out a restraining order.”

“An order? An order. You think she hasn’t thought about it? That is all it is though, a piece of fucking paper telling him to stay away. Do you think he will care? He’d kill her!” Stiles screamed. “At least she is alive.” Stiles was shaking as Derek hugged him. He tried to push back, but he gave up when Derek refused to let him go. “I’ve got to be back before the final whistle.”

“Why?” Derek asked.

“You know why,” Stiles whispered.


	8. Chapter 8

The drive back to the school was quiet. Derek didn’t know what to say, really. He held his hand out for Stiles as he drove, which he took, his hand hanging limply in Derek’s. 

“Can I keep your sweatshirt?” Stiles asked, looking at Derek. Derek nodded, knowing full well that it was in the duffle bag at Stiles’ feet. He liked that Stiles had something of his, had his scent on him. “Laura said it was your favorite.” 

“It was, but it doesn’t fit me anymore.” Stiles let out a long, slow sigh when Derek pulled into the school’s parking lot. “I don’t like this, you’re too quiet.” Stiles didn’t say anything. “Let me do something, anything.” 

“Like what? Nothing short of witness protection will stop him, believe me,” Stiles mumbled. “And if we did that, I’d leave you, and I don’t even think that would do anything for us. I mean, that is for massive like.... if you witness a murder or something.” 

“You’re rambling.” 

“Yeah? Well, because I’m scar-” Stiles stopped, pulling his hand away from Derek’s. “I’m going to go so it looks like I didn’t skip out.” He opened the door, leaving Derek inside. Derek clenched his jaw. He couldn’t believe he was going to let Stiles walk into that house, knowing what would happen. Derek got out of the car, slamming the door. 

“Stiles-” Stiles turned around, his hands clutching his duffle bag. “Call me, I am serious.” Stiles nodded, then walked towards the field. Derek bit his lip, shoving his hands into his front pockets. He couldn’t just let Stiles walk into that house. He wouldn’t do it. He got back into his car, then dialed the Sheriff’s number. 

The ride home was long, longer than normal for Stiles. He had his hands in his lap, his leg was shaking with the anticipation of what was to come. He misinterpreted the time because there was still plenty of time on the clock when he walked up into the bleachers, avoiding Laura in the crowd. After the match he rushed into the parking lot, he hadn’t even seen Scott when he heard the honk of Greg’s horn. He ran to the car, getting in as fast as he could. 

“Did you play?” He had asked. Stiles shook his head no. As the car pulled away, Stiles swore that he saw Laura Hale. Stiles looked out the window, trying to keep his mind calm, blank. He was fine, until at a stoplight Greg grabbed him, yanking him towards him. “What the fuck is that on your neck?” He asked. Stiles’ hand went to his neck, not understanding. “You have a hickey, Stiles. Who is it from?” Stiles blanched. He had no idea Derek had given him one. “Answer me.” 

“I, uh-” He was slammed against the dashboard. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he screamed. 

“Answer me.”

“Why do you care?!” Greg grabbed Stiles’ jaw, forcing him to look at him. 

“Was it Hale?” Stiles squirmed, pushing at Greg’s arm, his fingers gripping his wrist, trying to get him off of him. “If he touched you, I’m going to-”

“He didn’t touch me,” Stiles hissed. “You’re the monster.” There was a honk from behind them because the light had turned green. Greg shoved Stiles back into his seat. Stiles closed his eyes, covering his face with his hands as he concentrated on breathing, anything to keep his heart from exploding out of his chest. 

“What the fuck is going on?” Greg asked as they pulled up to their house with two cop cars parked out front. Stiles, his eyes wide, slid down in his seat. “What did you do?” Greg asked. Stiles shook his head as he got out of the car, running into the house. 

“Mom?” He called out, scared for a moment that she was hurt, that someone had called 911. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Derek and Sheriff Argent talking with his mother at the kitchen table. He glared at Derek, who stood as Greg entered. 

“What’s going on here?” Greg asked, looking from Madeline to Stiles. Stiles couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t believe that Derek would do this to him, to his mother. Greg was going to kill them. 

“We were just asking Madeline about an anonymous tip that was given to us about some shouting that has been heard as of late,” The Sheriff said, putting away his notepad which, from where Stiles was standing, looked full. “Is it alright if we talked with you and Stiles separately?” Stiles tensed, looking from Greg to the Sheriff. 

“Of course,” Greg said, smiling. The Sheriff nodded his head once at Derek, who lead Stiles outside, his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. As soon as they were outside, Stiles rounded on him. 

“What are you doing?” He hissed in a whispered. 

“Helping you.” 

“This-” Stiles pointed inside, “this is not helping. What the fuck do you think he is going to do the second you and Argent have closed that door?” 

“He should back off, because if I so much as see a new brui-” Derek stopped mid-sentence, his hand going up to Stiles’ face. Stiles swatted his hand away, turning his face away from Derek. “What the fuck did he do to you, already? In the car?” Derek asked. He turned Stiles’ face towards him as gently as he could but Stiles pushed back from him. 

“You fucking gave me a hickey and he flipped out!” He said as quiet as he could despite his hysteria. “I can’t believe you right now.” Derek frowned, putting his hands on his belt, licking his lips as he looked Stiles up and down. 

“I didn’t tell Chris about what Greg did, I didn’t give him any specifics. I want you to know that.” Stiles bit his lip as he looked up at Derek. “That is for you to do, that is what I want you to do.” 

“How is you and the Sheriff coming in here going to help?” 

“Because the Sheriff is going to scare the shit out of him, that’s why.” 

“What if that doesn’t work?” Stiles asked. “He thinks, he knows we are together, Derek. Greg is smart. And now he thinks I told you everything, that I am right now.” Stiles ran his fingers through his hair. 

The front door opened and the Sheriff walked out, looking at Derek and Stiles while Greg stood at the doorway. 

“Thank you, Mr. Morrison, for your time.”

“Anytime, Chris,” Greg said with a smile. Stiles looked to Derek, scared. 

“Do you have a second, Stiles?” Chris asked, looking from Greg to Stiles, then back again. Greg, nodded, shutting the door for privacy. Stiles looked to the ground. “Do you have anything you need to tell Deputy Hale and myself?” He asked. Stiles looked to Derek, his heart beating so fast he couldn’t even think. He shook his head. Chris sighed, looking to Derek. “What happened to your cheek, Stiles?” 

“Lacrosse,” Stiles murmured. Derek shifted, clearly angry. 

“Derek here told me that you didn’t play today, that looks fresh.” Stiles looked from Derek to the Sheriff. “We have nothing unless you tell us, Stiles.” Stiles looked to a window, Greg was standing there, staring at him. He cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck as he looked to the ground once more. 

“I can’t.” Derek sighed, disappointed. The Sheriff only nodded, licking his lips as he looked from Stiles to Derek. The Sheriff handed Stiles a card, his business card. 

“You call that number directly, you hear me, if something happens.” Stiles nodded. With that, the Sheriff walked to his car, looking after him at Derek. Derek looked to Stiles, his face expressionless. 

“I can’t help you if you don’t want to help yourself, Stiles,” he whispered, then walked to his own car. Stiles let a tear fall before he wiped at his eyes, shoving his card into his pocket. Apparently his mother told them nothing as well, then, if they had nothing. 

Stiles walked inside to find his mom in the kitchen, readying dinner. Greg was nowhere to be seen, so he walked over to her. She gave him a glance, then sighed. 

“We aren’t discussing it,” she whispered. Stiles nodded. “He knows neither of us said anything.” 

“I didn’t know Derek was going to-”

“I know.” 

“He thought he was helping.” She nodded, kissing Stiles’ cheek lightly as she got out the bag of peas from the freezer. 

“You need to put this on your cheek, dinner will be ready soon.” Stiles took it, then walked into his room, leaving the door cracked open.” He changed clothes, putting on Derek’s hoodie and laying on top of his bed, putting the peas against his face. He hissed, sighing as he took out his phone. He had a text from Derek. 

_I want to tell you about my hereditary trait_ , he had said less than a minute ago. Stiles was intrigued. 

_Go on_. 

_In person._ Stiles laughed, despite of everything. 

_Not happening tonight. I’ve got peas on my face._

_What do you mean by peas?_ Stiles smiled. 

_Frozen peas, they are my go to ice pack. I can’t see you in person, not unless I sneak out_. Stiles waited for a reply, tossing his phone beside him on the bed. He got up to put the peas back in the freezer, leaving his phone on his bed. When he walked back into his room, he plopped back down on his bed, grabbing his phone once more to see if Derek responded. He barely had time to type in the passcode before Greg burst into his room. Stiles jumped a mile, rolling onto his back, slipping the phone into his pocket. Greg reached for him, pulling Stiles to his feet. Stiles stumbled off the bed, his hands reaching up, clawing at Greg’s wrists. 

“I know what they’re doing, I know exactly what that was about and don’t you fucking think for a minute I don’t have other ways to punish you.” Stiles refused to react, even though his heart was threatening to beat out of his chest. “Don’t you fucking think I can’t break you.” Stiles trembled, his nails digging into Greg’s skin as he was walked, dragged towards his closet. 

“What- What are you doing?” Stiles asked as he was shoved into the walk-in closet. Greg slammed the door in Stiles’ face. He immediately went to the door knob, twisting it. 

 

“If you so much as open that door I will flay you.” He heard Greg say from somewhere in his room. He panicked when he realized that the light switch was on the outside. He heard Greg moving something, his dresser maybe, in front of the door. Stiles beat against the door with his fist, tears forming. 

“Don’t, please! Let me out.” Stiles was shaking as he refused to stop beating against the door. There was nothing, only silence. Stiles jumped when he heard his text tone. It was Derek. 

_Best not sneak out._ Stiles frowned, sliding down the door and sitting in the pitch black of his closet. It was small for a walk-in , full of his clothes, barely room on the ground for his legs to spread out. He pulled his knees up to his chest and set his chin down, looking at his phone, looking at how he only had one bar left on his battery life. He chewed his bottom lip. Call Derek? If he did he would only have a few minutes on the phone. If he just...held out then he would have light for longer. Stiles held the phone, letting it go dark. 

He tested his strength, seeing how long he could go in the pitch black, in the silence. His toes moved, nervous, then his fingers. He felt itchy, he felt like he wasn’t in his own skin. He hit his head gently on the door, closing his eyes, counting up from zero. 

He made it to 231 before he called Derek. 

“Hey, you okay?” Derek asked. Stiles’ lip trembled as he covered his eyes with his hands. 

“Yeah, totally,” he lied. “I just thought I’d call instead of text. Can we do this over the phone?” He asked. Derek sighed. 

“I’d really like to do it in person.”

“That isn’t really possible right now, really. Uh, but I really want to know.” 

“I know, and we’ll talk about it... Stiles you sound off-”

“Just a bit stressed, is all.” Stiles was pulling on his bottom lip with his fingers absentmindedly. “My phone may die on me, actually. I can’t really get to my charger right now, though. So if I stop talking that is why, because we both know I can’t really stop talking and I don’t really, you know, have a filter or anything so if I suddenly just stop you know why.” Derek chuckled, which calmed Stiles. It would be okay. He was only in a closet, by himself, trapped by a dresser, in the dark. But he wasn’t hurt, he wasn’t in pain. 

“Where is your charger?” Derek asked. “Aren’t you at home?” 

“Yeah, I just can’t find it. I misplaced it. I’ll find it, don’t worry.” 

“Stiles, you’re lying.” Stiles scoffed. “I can tell that you are.” 

“Bullshit, you can’t tell over the phone.” 

“I can, and you are. What is going on? Did Greg do something?” 

“Can’t we just have one conversation where you don’t flip out about my well being-” Stiles’ phone beeped and the call was dropped. “Fucking piece of shit god dammit,” Stiles cursed, tossing the phone to the floor. No phone, no light-

Flashlight. There was a flashlight somewhere in his closet, in case of a power outage. Stiles climbed to his feet, reaching above his head to the shelf above his clothes. He had no idea where it was, really. He pulled down a box and sat down, his hands searching, finding nothing that felt like a flashlight. He concentrated on finding it, refusing to think about being trapped, about how he couldn’t get out, about how he had a chance to tell Derek to come save him but instead he chose to ramble like an idiot. He tried not to think about how if he had just told him, that Greg would be taken away, maybe. Perhaps, but maybe not? Stiles didn’t know, he only knew that he needed that flashlight. He pulled down another box, then another. After what felt like an eternity, he found it, clicking it on. Miraculously the batteries weren’t dead. They weren’t fresh, by any means. The stream of light was dull, but it was light. Stiles sat down and sighed. He looked at the mess he made, the disheveled boxes on the floor. There was a box of baseball cards, a box of old books from when he was younger, and a box of pictures. 

Pictures of his family. His mom, his dad, and him. Stiles shut his eyes briefly, thinking about just kicking it away from him. He couldn’t do that, though. He brought the box up into his lap and began looking through them. There were baby pictures, birthday pictures where Stiles had cake plastered across his face and hair, pictures of him eating spaghetti and apparently destroying the kitchen via his highchair with the sauce. There were pictures of his dad and him at a petting zoo, there was Stiles on a horse with his mother standing beside it, one of his dad holding him up in the air. 

Stiles didn’t know he was crying until tears fell onto a picture of him on his seventh birthday when they went to the beach even though it was cold and in the middle of the school year. Stiles dropped the flashlight, dropped the pictures and laid down on the carpet, letting himself cry. He curled up, making himself comfortable on the floor as he buried his face against Derek’s hoodie that he was still wearing. Eventually, he calmed down, running out of tears. He clicked off the flashlight, saving the battery. He fell asleep there, curled up against the door with his hood up, drawstrings pulled tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for keeping you waiting for this chapter. 
> 
> This is a reminder that I am punching you in the feels, okay? Consider yourself reminded! ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am not an expert in this subject. It is fiction. It is an Alternate Universe. Please to not berate me for not writing legal ramifications correctly (or rather, writing any of it correctly). I am well aware in its flaws. Thank you for your time. 
> 
> Update as of 9/7/12: consider this fic to be WIP until further notice.

Derek told himself that he wasn’t going to worry about Stiles. He told himself that Stiles was fine, that his phone had died just like he said it was going to, that there wasn’t anything going on. He believed himself for all of ten minutes before he got in his car. He was on his way to Stiles’ house when he got a call from Laura. 

“What’s up?” He asked, putting her on speaker. 

“I think you should get to Stiles’ house.” 

“I’m... heading there now. Wait, are you there?” Derek asked. Laura didn’t answer for a minute. 

“Yeah, actually. I was worried about him after the match.” 

“And?” Derek asked. “Did you hear anything?” 

“Just get here.” 

Derek growled, looking up at the sky. The full moon was coming, it was only days away and his blood was boiling. It was harder to reign in his anger, harder to hold back from snapping Greg’s neck on the spot. He would probably have to sedate himself when it came to the full moon because he knew if he was anywhere near Greg, he would kill him. He parked his car two blocks over, running until he found Laura by her scent. She was in a neighbor’s back yard, hidden in the darkness, the trees. She was looking at Stiles’ window, which was dark. 

“What is it?” Derek asked. Laura stared silently for a moment before answering him. 

“I’m not sure, he was beating against a wall, or a door, then he called you, or I assume it was you. Are you telling him about us?” She asked, her gaze turning to look at Derek. Derek sighed. 

“He won’t trust me,” Derek whispered. “He’s seen me upset.” 

“Well whose fault is that, huh? Don’t fucking hulk out on him. Jesus, it’s not that hard.”

“It is when he is being beaten, Laura.” Laura sighed. 

“Well he called you, didn’t fucking mention that he had just been slamming his fist against a wall then his phone died.... then he...” Laura bit her lip. 

“What? Did Greg hit him?” Derek asked, his eyes flashing. 

“No,” Laura shook her head. “He was crying.” Derek’s shoulders slumped as he looked at the window. No lights were on. 

“He was in his room?” Derek asked. Laura nodded her head. 

“There hasn’t been any noise for a while, though.” 

“I wonder if the rest of the house is asleep,” Derek whispered. 

 

“When was the last time you slept?” Laura asked. Derek waved his hand dismissively as he walked around the house, or ran more like. All of the lights in the house were out. He walked up to Stiles’ window, peering inside. It was dark, but he could see perfectly fine. His bedroom door was open, which was odd, and then... there was a dresser pushed in front of the closet. Derek’s brow furrowed as he tested the window. Unlocked. 

He hopped inside easily, silently. He looked down the hallway to see that the master bedroom door was shut, that the light was off. He shut the door slowly, so that he could talk to Stiles. He could smell him on the other side of the door, he could smell the salt from his tears, he could tell that Stiles was wearing his hoodie. It was like a punch in the gut, thinking about Stiles curled up in his hoodie, crying. Derek clenched his jaw, trying to calm down the wolf inside of him.

He moved the dresser in one swift movement, hearing Stiles shuffle, scurry to the back of the closet. Derek closed his eyes, breathing a few times so that he could calm down enough that his eyes wouldn’t be glowing. When he opened the door, Stiles was pushed against the back of the closet, his arms wrapped around his legs that were pulled up against his chest with his head buried against his knees, the hood up. He was tense, as if waiting. 

“Stiles,” Derek whispered. Stiles’ head shot up, his eyes wide in the darkness, the light of the moon the only illumination Stiles had. 

“Derek?” Stiles asked, his voice cracking. “What are you doing here?” He asked, unmoving. “If Greg hears you, he’ll kill me.” 

“I won’t let him do that. Come on, he’s asleep.” Derek held out his hand for Stiles. Stiles didn’t move, at first. Eventually his fingers slipped into Derek’s hand and Derek pulled him up. “I’ll hear him stir if he wakes.” Stiles made a face as he pulled his hand from Derek’s. Derek let it fall. “What happened?” Derek asked as he watched Stiles pick up his phone, walk into his room and grab the charger, then bring it back into the closet. Stiles turned on the closet light, finding the plug that he knew was in there, and plugging his phone in. His face was splotchy, red from crying. Derek saw a box of pictures, pushed to one side. He understood immediately. 

“I was locked in the closet, Derek,” Stiles said, his voice devoid of emotion. “Because he knows he can’t touch me.” 

“Stiles-”

“Why are you here? Are you really, honestly, at the end of the night, going to push the dresser back in front of this door for me?” Derek’s jaw set. “I am fucking serious, Derek. You have to go, you have to put everything back how you found it. To the inch,” Stiles hissed. “Because if he hurts my mother because you didn’t want me trapped in a closet I am going to lose my shit.” 

“Stiles, you need to tell Chris-” 

“I’m not telling Chris shit.” 

Derek growled. He was taken aback when Stiles did it back at him. That was not something he had been expecting. Stiles growling made him take a step back. 

“You growl an awful lot for a human being, you know that?” Stiles asked, his tone accusatory. Derek narrowed his eyes. Stiles’ shoulders sagged. “Thank you... for checking on me, though. Even though it is totally breaking and entering. Some cop you are-”

“Laura said she heard you beating your fists against something, she was worried.” Stiles raised his eyebrows. 

“Laura said.... she heard... Where is Laura?” Stiles asked, looking towards the window. 

“She’s outside.” 

“How did she hear- what the fuck is going on?” Stiles asked. Derek sighed.

“This is not the time or place-”

“Oh, oh fuck no,” Stiles whispered in a hiss. “You are not backing down now, not when your eyes are in a constant state of glowy creepiness right now.” Derek hadn’t even known his eyes were glowing, he needed to calm down, fast. “Oh, now they go out. Just perfect. So you can control it? It is something you can control? And Laura, do you have super hearing or something?” 

“Yes, and yes,” Derek whispered. Stiles stepped forward. 

“You said I shouldn’t be scared of you, is that true?” 

“Yes.” 

“Can Laura hear me right now?” Stiles asked. Derek could hear Stiles’ heartbeat quickening, he could hear the tremor in Stiles’ voice as he asked him. Derek nodded. Stiles gulped. 

“So you have a family trait that makes your eyes glow blue, you know when I am lying, and you can hear things really, really, well. Anything else?” Derek weighed the pros and cons in his head, knowing he was about to scare the shit out of Stiles if he told him the truth. But he needed to tell him, he needed Stiles to trust him. If he lied to Stiles about this Stiles would never forgive him. 

“I’m a...” Derek took a deep breath. “Stiles, I’m a werewolf.” Stiles stood there, unmoving, his face shifting to non-belief to pondering. 

“Like... howl at the full moon werewolf?” Stiles asked. Derek nodded. Stiles laughed, once, nervously. “Your family? All of them?” Derek heard Laura outside, shuffling around. 

“Some, yes.” Stiles shifted his weight from leg to leg, his head tilted slightly. 

“You, pulling Scott over that day, you knew then, about what was wrong.” 

“I wasn’t positive.” 

“How?” Stiles asked. 

“You smelled of vinegar and aloe, you lied, you flinched as if I was going to strike you-” Stiles nodded, waving his hand as if that was enough. “I can’t do anything, unless you let me, Stiles.” 

“I can’t risk him hurting her if it doesn’t work,” Stiles whispered. “I turn eighteen next week,” he added. “I’ve got money coming to me, and my Jeep.” Derek bit his lip, nodding his head. “I’ve just got to get to graduation, Derek. It is only months away. I can make it.” 

“He just locked you in your closet, Stiles.” 

“Yeah? And I’m not in pain. I can handle a little darkness, Derek. I’m not weak.” 

“I didn’t say you were, because I know you’re not.” Derek turned his head towards the door, thinking he heard something. He put his hand up to quiet Stiles as he listened. “About me-”

“Listen, I just... I don’t really, I don’t really believe you.” 

“What?” Derek asked. Stiles shrugged. 

“You just told me you were a supernatural being, I sort of think you’re insane right now.” 

“I don’t even know what to say to that,” Derek said as he heard Laura laugh outside. 

“Show me,” Stiles whispered. Derek shook his head immediately. “Fucking do it, Derek. I don’t believe you.” Derek grit his teeth, turning away from Stiles. Stiles sighed. “Just go, Derek.” Derek turned back around to look at Stiles but he was already walking back into the closet, resigned. 

“If I show you, do you promise not to scream?” Stiles raised his eyebrows, nodding once. “Stay in there.” Derek whispered, walking closer to the window, getting as far away from Stiles as possible. 

“What are you-” Stiles started to ask him something but Derek let himself go, let the wolf take over. He thought about Greg hitting Stiles, he thought about him being beaten, held down, locked up. It didn’t take him long before he shifted, feeling his nails lengthen and face morph. “Jesus fucking oh my god.” Derek changed back immediately at the sound of Stiles’ scared voice. “How did you- what are you- you weren’t lying.” Derek stayed by the window, expecting Stiles to want him to leave. “Why are you still over there if you aren’t all hulked out?” He asked. 

“You... aren’t afraid of me?” Derek asked. Stiles was out of the closet, walking over to him. 

“You just said I shouldn’t be,” he said completely calm, with his pupils dilated, his pulse quickening once more. “I can’t believe you’re a fucking werewolf.” 

“I can’t believe you aren’t flipping out.”

“Oh, oh I am flipping out, internally. Well, I may flip out later. Well, I mean... wait. So, do werewolves really turn on a full moon?” 

“Most of the time, the pull is greater.” 

“Who bit you?” Stiles asked. 

“I was born a werewolf, we turn... during puberty.” Stiles’ eyes widened. “I knew it was coming, though. Mom, John, and Laura all turn, so.”

“Not your dad?” Derek shook his head. 

“Human.” 

“You’re... not even human. That is weird,” Stiles whispered as he reached a hand out, touching his fingers where long claw like nails had just been. “So you the other night... and my shirt-” Derek grunted. “Your instincts took over and you didn’t even realize what you were doing?” 

“... Right,” Derek answered, shifting uncomfortably. “My urge to protect you is rather strong at this point.” Stiles looked up at him and smiled. 

“Protect me?” 

“Is that hard to believe?” Derek asked, reaching a hand out and cupping Stiles’ swollen cheek, his thumb brushing against his lips. Stiles closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. 

“You have no idea how hard that is to believe.” 

“I’m here now, though.” Stiles scoffed, but nodded. 

“Do me a favor?” Stiles asked. 

“Anything.”

“Make sure the dresser goes back, that you make my room look the way-”

“Stiles, do you really want me to lock you back in there?” Derek asked. “I don’t think I can.” 

“I don’t want to go back in, but I know that if he wakes up and I am not in there, my punishment will be worse.” 

“Let me bring Chris in, let us find you in there. I’m sure-”

“No,” Stiles said interrupting Derek. Derek growled in response, which Stiles returned once more. It made Derek shiver, how Stiles growled at him with his hand still on Stiles’ cheek, his teeth bared as he did it. 

“When?” Derek asked, caving, choosing to ignore his feelings for the time being. 

“Soon. I’m afraid he’ll wake up.” Stiles’ eyes darted towards the door. 

“I can hear him snoring,” Derek grunted. “I’d be able to hear him get out of the bed, the mattress.” Stiles bit his lip. 

“Okay,” Stiles said, relaxing. “I just don’t want him to walk in.” 

“He won’t,” Derek whispered, his thumb moving across Stiles’ lips once more. Stiles licked them, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Derek’s waist, pressing his cheek against Derek’s chest. 

“I’m so tired, I just want to crawl in bed, but I can’t. He’d notice.” Derek looked to Stiles’ made bed and frowned. 

“You could fall asleep on top of the covers.” Stiles shook his head, backing away from Derek far enough so that he could see him. 

“I think I should... go back in.” 

“Are you positive that is what you want?” Derek asked, knowing he sounded like a broken record. Stiles shook his head. 

“I’d rather stay out here, but I know I shouldn’t. You shouldn’t be here.” 

“You’ve got your charger in there now?” Derek asked. Stiles nodded. 

“I think, I think I am going to go to the bathroom... and grab something to eat. I didn’t eat dinner.” Derek nodded, opening the door to Stiles’ room quietly. Stiles tip-toed to the bathroom as Derek kept an eye out, and an ear. Stiles made himself a sandwich, which he brought into the closet with him. He grabbed fresh batteries for his flashlight, and an extra blanket so he had something to lay on. Derek couldn’t help but pout as he watched him situate himself.  
“I don’t like this,” Derek reiterated. Stiles frowned as he looked up at Derek from where he was seated in the closet, his jaw clenched. 

“I don’t think you realize how much you showing up means. He won’t keep me in here forever, Derek.” 

“If he does, I am coming for him.” Stiles didn’t say a word, but nodded. 

“Okay, turn the light off,” Stiles muttered, turning his flashlight on. Derek bent down so that he was face to face with Stiles. “Derek,” Stiles sighed. “Please do this.” 

“Why? Why can’t I go get Chris now-”

“Because I said so,” Stiles hissed. “Because he’ll hurt us more, don’t you understand that? If you take me away, he will hurt my mom. If you come barging in and he doesn’t get charged, he will come after us. Turn off the light.” Derek stood and did what Stiles asked. The flashlight illuminated him, casting him in an eerie glow. “You coming gave me the courage, though,” Stiles whispered as Derek put his hand on the door. “I will be fine.” 

“I will be outside,” Derek said. “I’m not leaving. If I hear-”

“Okay,” Stiles said, nodding. “Okay. If you hear something...” He trailed off, unable to say that Derek could come in, could save him. He needed to Stiles to say it. 

“Give me permission, Stiles,” Derek urged him. Stiles looked up at him, nodding. 

“If you hear me scream, help us.” 

Derek didn’t need to be told twice. He shut the door, moving the dresser back in its place. He left the bedroom door open then climbed out of the window. Laura was sitting there, waiting. 

“He took that rather well,” she said, standing and sighing. “And I can’t believe you locked him back in there.”

“He told me to.”

“Yeah? And you’re fucking whipped and you two aren’t even together.” 

“I am not-”

“He growled at you,” she said, grinning. “You liked it.” 

“Shut up, Laura.”

“His birthday is next week.”

“Yeah, and he is currently locked in a fucking closet, by me, so we aren’t even talking about his birthday right now.”

“You didn’t do it, his stepfather did. He just wants to protect his mother, his pack. She is all he has left.” Derek stopped dead in his tracks. He hadn’t thought of it that way before. Derek would do anything, withstand anything for his family. Stiles was doing the same for his. 

“Are you going to stay here?” Laura asked. Derek nodded. 

“He said I could.”

“You haven’t slept all weekend, Der.”

“Well,” Derek shrugged. It didn’t matter. 

“You go sleep, I’ll stay.” Derek looked at her, then sighed. He felt his fatigue wearing him down, and he had a shift in the morning. “I’ll call you if I hear anything.” 

“Anything?” Derek asked. 

“Even a whimper,” She whispered, her eyes sad. Derek nodded, taking one last look at the house before heading to his car.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: this is fiction. and according to Ao3 abuse team this fic has been tagged appropriately.

Stiles heard the dresser move and scrambled to the back of the closet on instinct. He grabbed his phone, gripping it tight in his hand as he controlled his breathing, waited for the door to open. It didn’t, though. He waited, gulping, as he tried to hear. Minutes passed and there was no more movement, no anything. After half an hour, he slid across the closet floor, his hand shaking as it reached for the doorknob. He twisted it, testing it. He pushed outwards, gasping as the door swung wide open. He squinted his eyes against the bright light of morning, covering them with his hand as he stood. 

“It’s a trap,” he whispered to himself, stepping back into the closet. He stood there, staring at the carpet of his bedroom as he contemplated the repercussions of leaving the closet without a direct order. After a while, he heard footsteps, soft ones. His mother. She walked into his room, her face showing her grief. 

“Stiles, Greg moved it back.” Stiles stepped into the closet. “So that you could go to school.” Stiles scoffed. “If you don’t shower soon, you’ll be late.” 

“And when I come home?” Stiles asked. She pursed her lips, saying nothing. Stiles nodded, gnawing at his bottom lip as he slipped past her, walking into the bathroom. He turned on the shower in a daze. He stripped down, putting his phone on the counter. He got in and stood there, unmoving, unthinking. His life was not his own, he was a puppet. He was a scared puppet who never fought back. He stepped out of the shower just as it was turning cold, realizing he hadn’t done a thing to wash up. 

“Perfect,” he whispered as he grabbed a towel and dried off. He gathered his things, walking into his room to change. He dressed, pulling on Derek’s hoodie once more, pocketing his phone. 

At school, Stiles caught up with Scott, who, he realized, he hadn’t talked to all weekend. 

“Hey, we should hang out on your birthday,” Scott said during lunch. Stiles nodded, checking his phone. He had texted Derek, telling him that he was out of the closet, nothing happening. Derek hadn’t responded. Stiles could only assume he was working, or sleeping. Or avoiding him. 

“Yeah, big day,” Stiles whispered, shoving his phone into his pocket. “I get my jeep, finally.” 

“We should go joy riding,” Scott said, smiling. Stiles nodded, smiling back even though he really didn’t feel like it. “You seem distracted.”

“What? Well, yeah. I mean, when am I not distracted?” Stiles asked, shaking his head as if it was nothing big. Because being ignored by a werewolf was no big fucking deal after spending the night locked in a closet. His life was a joke. Stiles laughed, covering his mouth. He totally forgot about the whole werewolf thing. He picked up his phone, debating texting Derek again. He was about to, when his phone buzzed. 

_Glad you are okay._ Stiles grinned. Derek responded. 

_Tonight is a full moon, right?_ he asked back. “Besides dinner with my family, I am free.” Stiles gnawed on his bottom lip, “what if I spent the night at your place?” Scott shrugged, nodding. 

“Yeah, you haven’t done that in a while.” 

_No, not until the weekend._ Derek responded. Stiles would have to remember that, later. For now, though, he had to think of a way to get to Scott’s on his birthday. 

The rest of the week passed by in a blur. Stiles was on autopilot between school, homework, lacrosse, and the fact that Greg was working evenings all week. It was like a false sense of security engulfed him. Home was calm, soothing, even. He did the dishes, like always, but dinner wasn’t strained. It was casual, not forced. His mother made breakfast for dinner one night, then ordered chinese takeout the next. Stiles thought about how this would be what his life would be like if there was no Greg. He didn’t think about what his life would be like if his dad was still there, because that hurt just to think about. But with Greg working while he was home, he had the chance to breathe, to think about life with just his mom. They watched TV together, he still did his work before dinner, he still did all his chores. There was no need for Greg’s violence, for his anything for that matter. A week’s reprieve let Stiles realize that. He was in bed at a decent time, finding it easier to fall asleep without pain, without tears. He wished Greg worked evenings every day, every week. He got into the habit of talking to Derek on the phone constantly. He would put his headphones on as he did his homework, talking to Derek every so often. Derek didn’t mind putting Stiles on speaker phone while he was on duty, sitting on the side of a road waiting for someone to speed. Stiles asked him a lot of questions about werewolves, about packs. About his family. The fact that they took Stiles in was huge, the hugest, apparently. Letting a stranger into a den of werewolves was not something to be taken lightly. Stiles had had no idea, really, not until he got Derek to explain it to him. 

Derek explained about werewolves and sensing feelings, even from each other. Stiles talked a lot about his mother, about colleges he wanted to apply to, about how they were all out of state. He talked about baseball, about how he hates the Yankees, the Braves, and the Phillies. He rambles about facts, about injuries, about batting averages and how Greg is a fucking Phillies fan and won’t let Stiles watch the Mets play so he has to stream games on his computer, which was fine by him because he didn’t want to watch a game with Greg in the room anyways. 

Stiles got used to having Derek on the line, even if there was silence because they ran out of things to say. It was comfortable, comfortable like with Scott. Scott who hated talking on the phone, would rather play video games and talk about his crush on Allison. Here, with Derek, Stiles didn’t have to talk about girls, about anything really. They didn’t talk about their kiss, about how Stiles’ birthday was tomorrow, or about how Stiles was legally able to walk away. Not when Derek knew Stiles wouldn’t leave his mother, his pack. 

They did talk about pack, though. Derek told Stiles he understood, really, why Stiles refused help. His mother was his pack, and Stiles wouldn’t leave her there to fend for herself. Derek left it at that, even though Stiles knew he wanted to say more. 

Stiles was on the phone with Derek, in bed, late, as the clock approached midnight on his birthday. He was whispering, barely awake, when his door opened. He sat up, yanking the earbuds out of his ears, his eyes wide. Greg was home. He had left Stiles alone every night when he got home, but Stiles could smell the alcohol. He reeked of it. 

“Greg-” Stiles grabbed hold of his phone, gripping it tight as Greg came forward. 

“Do you think, since it’s your birthday, that you can do whatever you fucking want?” Stiles flinched, hoping, praying that Greg didn’t hit him with Derek on the line. 

“No, Sir,” Stiles whispered. Greg paused, looking around Stiles’ room absentmindedly. 

“Tomorrow, your mother is making you a cake.” Stiles nodded, breathing slowly as Greg gripped his door knob, seemingly retreating. “You better be home to eat it.” 

“I will be,” Stiles murmured. Greg left, then, and Stiles started hyperventilating, grabbing his headphones and putting an earbud in. “Derek?” he asked. 

“Are you alright?” Derek asked, his voice a deep growl. Stiles nodded his head, falling back onto his bed. 

“Yeah, I don’t even know what that was,” Stiles whispered, burrowing under his blankets. 

“I’m not sure, either.” Stiles shut his eyes, sighing. “Hey, Stiles?”

“Yeah?” Stiles asked. 

“Happy Birthday.”

Stiles’ birthday started like every other day. He woke up with his phone in his hand, with an earbud in one ear, and his sheets kicked off of his bed. He showered, like normal, and got ready for school like he always did. He didn’t feel different, not physically. But mentality, he knew he could suddenly do more, be more. It was like he finally got his ‘get out of jail free’ card. He didn’t think, though, that his father’s keys to the jeep would be waiting for him on the kitchen table. He stopped dead in his tracks, staring at them in awe. They looked the same as they always had, which made Stiles choke on his own breath. Greg was sitting at the kitchen table, his hands by them. His filthy, filthy hands on Stiles’ dad’s keys. Stiles pursed his lips, waiting. 

“You put one toe out of line, and the jeep is mine.” Stiles nodded, even though once he got those keys, he would never give them back. 

“Alright,” Stiles said, stepping forward. Greg handed him the keys and he bolted, running outside and climbing in. He cranked it, melting into the seat as it rumbled to life. His jeep, his dad’s jeep. “Best birthday ever,” he whispered. He drove it to school, calling Scott to tell him about it. 

The whole day, the keys burned a hole in his pocket. He was antsy, wanting to go sit in it, to go drive around in it. After school, he and Scott got in it and drove around. They drove for hours, it felt like, even though in actuality it had only been one. Stiles dropped Scott off at home, telling him he’d be back later. He had to go home, though. Cake was waiting for him. 

His cake was vanilla, with white icing and coconut shavings. His mom gave him a card, which he didn’t open in front of Greg, because he knew what it said. It said how proud of him she was, how she wished he had better, how she wanted him to go off to college and not worry about her. Stiles didn’t want Greg to read it, he didn’t want Greg anywhere near he and his mom. 

“You’re staying in tonight,” Greg said as he finished his piece of cake. Stiles looked to his mom, who looked to Greg. 

“Greg, it’s his birthday-”

“And? He has a game in the morning.” 

“I’m not gonna play, though,” Stiles said with a hint of tone. Greg glared at him, as if thinking about striking him. 

“I said no.” 

Stiles remained silent, but he knew as soon as Greg went to bed, that he was going out. It was his birthday, and he had promised Scott. He waited until their door was shut, until his mom came in and kissed him goodnight. He knew as soon as he turned on the engine of his jeep that Greg would hear him, but he wanted to drive it. It was his, it was his birthday, and he was eighteen. He was eighteen and if Greg laid a hand on him again, Derek would be there. Derek said he would be, that everything would be over in a heartbeat. Stiles didn’t even sneak out the window, he went out the back door. He turned on the engine and the master bedroom light turned on. Stiles, his heart beating in his throat, peeled out as he drove down the street. He laughed, outright, as he thought about his new found freedom, no matter how short lived it may be. His phone was ringing, it was Greg. He hit ignore. It rang again and he was about to hit ignore again but it was Derek. He picked it up, unable to keep a grin from spreading across his lips. 

“Hey,” he said, practically bouncing in his seat. 

“What are you doing?” Derek asked, sounding concerned. Stiles shrugged.

“Going to Scott’s for the night.” 

“Laura just called me-” Stiles bit his lip. Laura was watching him?

“Was she at my house?” Stiles asked. Derek sighed. “I’m not mad, if she was. I know you’ve been there, at night.” Derek grunted in acknowledgement. Yes, he had been there at night. “Just in case-”

“Yeah, in case. And she just called saying that you fled.”

“I didn’t flee,” Stiles said, indignant. “It’s called sneaking out on my birthday.” 

“So you are okay?” Derek asked. Stiles heard a call come from dispatch, letting him know that Derek was on duty, in his cop car somewhere. He was calling to check to see if he needed to come to Stiles. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Uh, is Laura still at my house?” 

“Yeah, she said Greg was yelling at Maddie,” Derek said, sighing as if he was pinching the bridge of his nose. “But nothing physical.” Stiles bit his lip, nodding his head. 

“Well, I’m staying out all night, so.... just... I don’t think he’ll touch her. He hasn’t done anything since-”

“Yeah, I know.” It was Stiles’ turn to sigh out loud as he pulled up to Scott’s.

“Okay, I’m at Scott’s. I’ll... talk to you later?” Stiles asked. “Or text you, or something.” Derek chuckled lightly, which made Stiles smile. 

“Just have fun with Scott, alright?” 

“Will do,” Stiles said, hanging up the phone. 

 

Derek sighed, shaking his head as he put his phone away. He knew that Stiles knew that he and Laura had been taking turns watching out for he and Maddie, but taking about it seemed like pointing out the white elephant in the room: they just didn’t talk about it. He also knew that Stiles slept better knowing someone was there, in case. He said it the other night, mumbling it into the receiver as he was falling asleep, knowing that Derek was outside, would come running if Greg burst through the door. Derek barely slept, anymore. Between working full time and picking up this security detail for Stiles, there wasn’t much room for shut eye. Mostly, he slept whenever Stiles was in school, or whenever Laura said she would go. She didn’t have a job, and Derek was letting her crash at his place. She said she didn’t mind, that it gave her something to do, something with purpose. She didn’t really have direction in life since she came back from New York, heartbroken from some fucking dumbass that didn’t know what he had when he let her go.

Derek sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. He was patrolling, riding around aimlessly, which he normally didn’t mind doing, it let him think. But not tonight. The full moon was soon, and he could feel its pull. He was on edge, his jaw clenched. Reigning back the wolf when he was upset was harder to do, so close to the full moon. 

Derek’s phone buzzed, Stiles sent him a text, letting him know that Scott’s mom rang his, and let her know that he was at Scott’s. Greg wouldn’t make a scene, Derek knew, by coming to the McCall’s house. At least, he hoped he wouldn’t. Derek couldn’t tell Stiles’ tone by the text, which worried him. He wasn’t sure if Stiles told him to warn him, to get to the McCall’s or to tell him that Laura didn’t need to be at the Morrison’s house. Derek decided to leave Stiles be, let him have fun with Scott. 

Derek turned towards the McCall’s, on instinct. He wasn’t going there, really, just absent mindedly his hands moved the steering wheel, turning at just the right time in order to get there. His phone buzzed and he saw that Laura was calling him. 

“What’s up?” He asked. 

“Der, I think they are coming for Stiles,” Laura said, sounding like she was running. 

“What do you mean, coming for him?” 

“I mean Greg had Maddie by the arm and pushed her into the car and drove off,” She said, her breath hitching as she moved, as if she was trying to follow them. 

“I’ll head that way,” Derek said, hanging up and turning his siren on. He cursed under his breath. He really thought that Greg wasn’t going to make a move like this, to grab Stiles out of his best friend’s house. He thought Stiles was safe for the night, just one night. He obviously, was wrong. Again. 

He heard the crash before he saw it, the sound of shattered glass and crushed metal, the sound of a constant horn. He skidded to a halt, rushing out of his car to check, to see what happened. 

“No,” he whispered to himself as he saw Greg’s car, flipped over on the side of the road. He smelled blood, so much blood. “Maddie!” He called out, running to the passenger side. No answer, there was no answer. “Greg?” He asked. “Shit, shit, Maddie call out if you can hear me!” 

“Derek?” A weak voice answered, Derek dropped to his knees, cutting his hands on pieces of glass. 

“Maddie, can you move at all?” Derek asked. “Can you feel anything?” 

“I can’t, I don’t know-” she sobbed. Derek closed his eyes. Shit. Derek gripped the radio on his shoulder, calling it in. 

“Dispatch this is Deputy Hale, I have an 11-80,” he said, rattling off the address of the block that they were on. 

“Okay 2357,We have a 14 in progress,” a voice came through, using Derek’s badge number in place of his name. 

“10-4,” Derek said, putting the radio back in its place. 

 

“Get me out of here!” Greg’s voice boomed. Derek heard the click of the seatbelt, of Greg falling onto crushed glass. Derek made his way to the other side of the car. Greg was halfway out of it. Derek sneered, but bent over to help him out. Of course he could walk.Greg was able to stand, so Derek brought him over to his car, urging him to sit in the back seat with the door open. He ran back to Maddie, not wanting her to be alone. 

“Okay 2357, 10-97,” the dispatcher said, letting Derek know that the ambulance was in the area. 

“Copy that,” Derek said, falling to his knees again. “Maddie, you still with me?” He asked. 

“Yes, I’m here.” 

“Okay, Maddie, we’ve got an ambulance on the way.”

“Don’t let him touch Stiles,” Maddie whispered. Derek’s lip quivered, but he nodded. 

“I won’t, Maddie. That is all over now.” Derek heard Maddie gasp as if in pain. “Hold on, Maddie. They’re on their way.” Derek could hear the sirens, he could hear them approaching. 

“Don’t you let him near him again,” she whispered again. Derek grit his teeth, looking back at Greg, who looked half mad, as if he had half a mind to walk the rest of the way to the McCall’s. The ambulance arrived and Derek let them through, let them get to Maddie. He explained what happened, how he came upon them. His eyes didn’t leave Greg’s, who was glaring at him as if the wreck had been his fault. 

Derek realized, as he watched Greg join Madeline in the ambulance, that he had to call Stiles. He had to tell Stiles that his mother was gravely injured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for your patience!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: this is fiction.

Derek waited until he was seated in his car, after the ambulance pulled away, its sirens blasting. He sat, staring at his phone for a moment, looking down at Stiles’ name. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he hit send. Stiles was laughing as he picked up, which made Derek’s gut sink. 

“Hey, wasn’t expecting to hear from you tonight,” Stiles said, his voice happy, contented. Derek cleared his throat. 

“Listen, Stiles, I’ve got some news-”

“What?” Stiles asked, his tone changing immediately. “What do you mean?”

“Your mother and Greg were in an accident. They were coming to get you from the McCall’s, Stiles, and the car flipped over.” Stiles was silent on the other end of the line. Derek licked his lips and continued, “I was the first to arrive. They’re being driven to the hospital-”

“Are they alright?” Stiles asked. “Is my mom okay?” Derek let out a sigh. 

“I don’t know, she was worse off than Greg-”

“Greg was fine?” Stiles asked, shuffling around. “My parents were in a wreck,” Stiles said, his voice muffled as if he had covered the receiver. “Scott I’m going to the hospital- What? No. I can drive myself.” Stiles shifted again, his voice no longer distorted. “I’m on my way.” 

“Are you okay to drive?” Derek asked. Stiles sniffled, scoffing as if he was rolling his eyes. 

“Yes, I can drive.” 

“I’ll see you at the hospital,” Derek whispered. 

“Sure,” Stiles answered as he hung up the phone. 

It took Stiles ten minutes to get to the hospital. When he got out of his Jeep, he saw Derek standing there, waiting for him by the entrance. He ran up to him, stopping dead in front of him, shoving his hands into his back pockets as he bit his bottom lip. Derek was in his uniform still, which reminded Stiles about his position, about how he couldn’t hug him right now, despite how much he wanted to.

“Do you know which room number she is?” Stiles asked, his voice cracking. He rubbed his head, scratching it with his nails to keep himself from stepping forward and putting his head against Derek’s shoulder. 

“She’s in surgery, Stiles,” Derek whispered. “They sent her straight in.” Stiles bit his lip to keep it from quivering as he nodded his head. “We won’t know until-” 

“Stiles,” Greg’s voice called out. Stiles flinched, taking a step towards Derek without realizing it. He turned his head towards Greg’s voice, noticing him in the smoker’s section, putting out a cigarette. “You have some explaining to do,” Greg said, his voice even. Stiles took another step back. Derek was there, Derek wasn’t going anywhere.

“I-”

“Your mother and I were out looking for you, we were worried,” he said. Stiles looked to Derek, because he knew that his mom had talked to Mrs. McCall, that they knew exactly where he was, and Derek knew that. But Greg didn’t know that Derek knew, he didn’t know how often Derek and Stiles talked. “And now she could be dying.” Stiles glared at Greg. 

“That isn’t my fault-”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” Stiles clenched his fists, taking a step forward, towards Greg. How was Greg flipping the car his fault? It wasn’t. 

“You knew where I was, Greg. Mom talked to Mrs. McCall. Why were you even coming out? I had my own car.” 

“You were to stay in tonight, I told you specifically,” Greg’s voice was controlled. Stiles looked back to Derek, only for a moment. Greg noticed, though. 

“Hale, don’t you have a patrol to do or something?” Greg asked. “On duty and all that?” Stiles glared at Greg, then, because he hadn’t even had time to talk to Derek. Derek nodded, his eyes not leaving Stiles as he walked to his car. Greg put his hand on Stiles’ shoulder, but he shrugged him off, walking inside. He asked the nurse where he should wait for his mom, and they told him a waiting room near surgery. He sat down, grateful that Greg had stayed outside: probably to smoke more. Stiles got out his phone and called Derek. 

“Hey, I’m still outside the hospital, sitting in my car,” Derek said, which made Stiles relax. “Greg is still out here smoking.”

“Yeah, I am in waiting room. I am just going to stay here and wait for my mom to get out of surgery.” 

“Want me to come back when I get off?” Derek asked. Stiles closed his eyes, nodding his head. 

“Yeah, I do, but Greg might fucking flip out or something, you know?” 

“We don’t want that.”

“Maybe we do, though. If he did something in public-”

“We both know he won’t, though.” Stiles groaned, knowing that Derek was right. “Just stay at the hospital.”

“Are you coming here? Later?” Stiles asked, pulling at his bottom lip with his fingers absentmindedly. 

“I don’t think it would be a good idea, if Greg sticks around, but I’ll be wherever you want me to be.” Stiles couldn’t help but smile. “Greg is heading inside, I’ve got to go patrol. Call me if you need anything.” 

“I will.” 

Stiles hung up, sighing audibly. He would just stay the night here, waiting. He wasn’t going to go home. Everything would be alright if he just stayed here. So he waited. He flipped through at least four magazines, ignoring Greg when he came in. He didn’t want to talk to him, and apparently Greg was perfectly fine with not talking to Stiles, either. They both looked up each time someone walked through the double doors, hoping it was news. Hours went by, and finally, at almost two in the morning, a doctor asked for Mr. Morrison. Stiles stood, rubbing his hands on his thighs nervously as he joined Greg by the doctor’s side. 

“How is she?” Stiles asked before anything was even said. Greg looked just as worried as he was, which surprised him, but he didn’t care what Greg thought. It was his fault that she was hurt. 

“Madeline had internal bleeding, which we’ve now got under control, she has a broken shoulder and some pretty nasty gashes from the glass shattering but she, luckily, had her seatbelt on.” Stiles’ eyes filled with tears, he was overwhelmed at the news that she was stable. He felt Greg’s hand on his back and he swatted it away, pushing away from him as a hand wiped at his own eyes. The doctor didn’t say anything to his reaction, and to someone who didn’t know them, didn’t know Greg, Stiles looked like an insolent child. Greg’s hand dropped but Stiles could tell he was angry. Greg liked to be seen as a caring father, for their family to look whole, happy. Stiles was so past pretending it wasn’t even funny. He wasn’t going to put up that facade again, not when he had almost killed his mother. “We’d like to keep her here for a few days, make sure the internal bleeding has stopped.” 

“Of course,” Greg said, sounding relieved. He even had tears in his eyes, as if he was happy. Stiles wanted to vomit. He sneered instead, turning his attention back to the doctor. 

“Can I see her?” 

“She isn’t awake yet, and when she wakes up she is going to be in a lot of pain, groggy from medication.” Stiles nodded in understanding. 

“I’m going to stay here, wait for her,” Stiles stated, not even asking for permission because fuck that. The doctor only shrugged his shoulders. 

“I don’t see a problem with that, she is in her own room, now. Normal visiting hours are to be observed for anyone who isn’t family.” 

“Of course,” Greg said. “We’ll both be staying,” he said, wrapping his arm around Stiles’ shoulders, pulling him close. Stiles flinched, letting Greg fake his dominance in a public setting. Stiles was fuming, his skin itched as his arm was pressed against Greg’s torso. Stiles’ skin crawled, he wanted to hurl. He wanted to push away again. But he didn’t want to make a scene. Once the doctor was gone, Stiles maneuvered away from Greg’s touch. 

“You need to get some sleep,” Greg said. Stiles growled, which surprised even him. Greg raised an eyebrow, but said nothing about it. Stiles felt bigger, felt older. He felt safe. He was in the hospital, surrounded by people. He had a car, his jeep. He had Derek. 

Without telling Greg where he was going, Stiles made his way down to the cafeteria, just to get away from him. He called Derek, who answered on the first ring. 

“Everything okay?” Derek asked, and Stiles closed his eyes, letting the tension leave him as he sat down at an empty table and put his head down on it. 

“She had internal bleeding, but she is going to be okay.” 

“I am glad she isn’t going to-”

“Me too,” Stiles said, swallowing back his emotions. “Greg is acting weird, really ‘I’m a family man’, overly touchy feely. It is creeping me out.” 

“Are you away from him?” Derek asked. 

“Yeah, I am in the cafeteria.” 

“Are you going home?” Derek asked, worry coating his words. 

“No, I’m staying here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Do you want me there?” 

“Yeah, but-” Stiles sighed, sitting up, picking at a chip in the table, “with him breathing down my back it would be stupid.” 

“You’re right.”

“You sleep, okay? I’ll be fine, surrounded by people.” 

“What about Laura?” Derek asked. Stiles smiled. 

“Yeah, okay. I’d like the company.” Derek whined, barely audible. Stiles’ stomach did a somersault at the thought of Derek whining because Laura got to be near Stiles when Derek couldn’t. 

“Okay, I’ll tell her.”

“I mean, only if she wants to. It is like, almost three.” 

“No, I just got home, she’s wide awake and worried.” 

“Well I’ll stay on the line with you until she gets here, then.” 

And he did. Laura got there fast, with coffee and in-and-out. They ate in the cafeteria in mostly silence, Stiles thanking her for the food and for her company. She smiled a sad smile and said that it wasn’t a problem. They made their way to the waiting room, where Greg was absent. Stiles found his mother’s room and looked in on her. She was asleep, which didn’t surprise him. What surprised him was how small she looked, hooked up to machines. She was bruised, way more than he was used to, and it made his stomach churn. Laura urged him to leave her be, to let her rest, taking Stiles’ hand and leading him out into the waiting room. They sat, and Laura brought out a deck of cards. 

“Got to do something to pass the time, don’t we?” She asked. They played until Stiles couldn’t think straight from exhaustion. The sun was coming up and he just couldn’t function any longer. He fell asleep, his head resting against her shoulder as Greg sat fuming silently in a corner, watching them. 

When Stiles woke up, Laura was asleep beside him, her head resting against the wall. He sat up straight, stretching his back. Greg was gone, nowhere to be seen. Stiles decided to check on his mom. He left Laura asleep, checking his phone to see that it was only eight in the morning. He had barely slept more than a few hours. His mother’s room was empty except for her, asleep in the hospital bed. He sat in a chair, bringing it close to her bed. He took one of her hands in his, squeezing it gently. Her eyes fluttered open, her face turning towards his. He stood up, leaning over the bars of her bed to get closer to her. 

“Mom?” He asked, not knowing if she was lucid. She smiled up at him. 

“Stiles,” she rasped, her voice cracked and dry. Stiles looked around, looked for water. There was a pitcher nearby, waiting. He got her a cup and a straw, putting it up to her mouth. “Thank you,” she whispered, wincing. She pushed a button that released pain medication through her IV, and sighed. “I am glad you are okay.” Stiles laughed at the irony.

“I’m glad you’re alive.” 

“Derek was there, he saved me.” Stiles nodded, his lip quivering. “Stiles I am so worried,” she confessed. Stiles closed his eyes, leaning over as he kissed her forehead. 

“It’s okay. I am staying here, with you.” Stiles sat down, kissing the back of her hand. “I’m so sorry I went to Scott’s, mom.” 

“Don’t-” she started to say. “Don’t blame yourself.” Stiles closed his eyes. 

“He told me not to go out.”

“It was your birthday, you deserved to have fun.” Hearing her say that, knowing that she was now in pain because of it, made it worse. His having fun for a few hours was not worth her bruised and broken. He had blamed Greg, but seeing her like this was hard. His phone buzzed in his pocket but he ignored it. “Did you get some rest?” She asked. Stiles shook his head. 

“I don’t-” Stiles saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Greg walked into the room. Stiles stood, dropping his mother’s hand. He swallowed the urge to tell Greg that he had no right to be in here, that he should leave her alone, but he realized that Greg was allowed, very allowed to be in there. 

Stiles looked down at his mom, frowning. 

“I love you,” he whispered. His mom, his pack. She was all he had. “I’m going.”

“Okay, sweetie.” 

“Where are you going?” Greg asked. Stiles didn’t even answer him, he just walked passed him and practically ran for the elevator. Once safely inside it, he breathed. His mom would be okay, Greg wouldn’t hurt her, not with nurses and doctors everywhere. He took out his phone, it was a missed call from Derek. Once he was out of the elevator, he called Derek back. 

“Hey,” Stiles said, walking to his jeep. 

“Hey, I’m officially on relieve Laura duty. She just called and said you were with your mom, she headed to my parents’ to crash.” Stiles nodded. 

“Yeah, I didn’t see her when I ran for the elevator-”

“Ran? What?” 

“I’m fine, I just had to get out before Greg pinned me against a wall until I told him where I was going.” 

“And where are you going?” Derek asked. 

“To... your place?” He asked, unsure. “If that’s okay.” Derek waited a second before responding. 

“Yeah, that’s fine. I can make us breakfast.” Stiles smiled. 

“Awesome, I’ll be over in a few. Hey, can I shower there?” Stiles asked. “I just don’t want to go home.” 

“Not a problem, Stiles. I understand.” 

When Stiles got to Derek’s, he practically melted into his couch, his head resting on one of the cushions, his eyes closing. Being near Derek made him feel safe, like he could put his defenses down. Derek didn’t even complain about Stiles barely even saying hello, or not taking his shoes off. The next thing he knew, Derek’s hand was on his back, waking him up. It felt good, calming circles that urged him to wake, to open his eyes. Stiles smelled bacon, and cinnamon. 

“Did you make cinnamon rolls?” Stiles mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he twisted his body. 

“Maybe,” Derek teased. “You’ve been asleep for awhile, almost past breakfast time.” 

“What are you? McDonald’s? Do you stop serving breakfast at 10:30?” Derek laughed. 

“It’s almost one, Stiles.” Stiles opened his eyes wide, not believing him. “I told you, you passed out.” 

“Holy shit.” 

“I thought the smell of food would wake you, but to no avail.” Stiles got up, following Derek into the kitchen. 

“Oh god, I love bacon,” Stiles said as he ate a piece straight away. “And you know what? I hate burned bacon and you making it all limp and delicious just makes me so, so happy,” Stiles rambled. “Because Greg fucking always cooks it so long that it is stiff and not good, he burns the taste out of it,-” Stiles ate another piece, “and you have orange juice. God.” Derek laughed. “We never have orange juice. Milk or bust. I love milk, though, but orange juice is like... Easter only, you know? Luxury.” Derek’s smile faded, and Stiles realized that he was talking too much, letting Derek know too much. Stiles took a long swig of his orange juice, practically downing it all at once. “No pancakes?” He asked, grinning, hoping to lighten the mood. Derek raised an eyebrow. 

“I’m not Laura. Laura is pancakes.”

“Damn, those were good,” Stiles teased. Derek tilted his head, watching Stiles eat. Stiles felt his cheeks reddening under Derek’s gaze. 

“What? Do I have something on my face?” He asked. Derek shook his head. 

“No, you’re just... acting different. More carefree.” Stiles shrugged, shoveling eggs into his mouth, along with another piece of bacon. “I like it.” 

“Well, I’m here, with you, you know. Eating,” Stiles shrugged again, mumbling. “Food is good, being here is good, I don’t need to have my guard up around you.” 

“One would think you’d want your guard up around me,” Derek whispered. Stiles lifted his eyebrows, shaking his head. 

“What? No. Why?” 

“Werewolf?” Derek asked, looking at Stiles like he should know better. Stiles frowned. 

“You wouldn’t hurt me, though. You’d protect me.” 

“You really believe that, Stiles?” Derek asked. Stiles nodded and suddenly Derek relaxed, as if he was scared, scared of Stiles’ answer. 

“Yeah, I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not such a big cliff hanger this time! :P


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: this is fiction. Things written are not true to life in any capacity.

Stiles took his time in the shower, thinking about everything that happened with his mom, with Greg. He thought about Laura staying with him all night and Derek on stakeout duty outside his house at night. 

“They’re wolves,” he whispered to himself, knowing that their instinct to protect could over take an instinct to keep their profile low. Derek told Stiles about Chris Argent, about how his family were hunters, how he didn’t know about Derek and his family, that they were careful. Derek and Laura were putting themselves out there to protect Stiles and his mother. “They’re a pack.”

A pack, who took Stiles in when he needed help. They took him in without question, because of Derek. Stiles shivered, despite the warmth of the shower’s spray. His mind flashed back to the look in Derek’s eyes when Stiles told him to lock him in his own closet, how broken he had looked, more upset than Stiles had felt. Stiles turned off the water, wrapping a towel around him as he walked into Derek’s room. He changed back into his clothes, into Derek’s hoodie. He smelled like him, now. His like shampoo, his bodywash, like Derek. Stiles felt warm all over, calm. He wished he could feel like this always: contented. 

As soon as he walked into the living room, Derek’s eyes were on him. Stiles scratched the back of his neck, feeling his cheeks reddening. 

“Uh, thanks for the... everything,” he mumbled. Derek lifted an eyebrow at him. “The nap, the food, the shower... while I’m at it-” Stiles sighed audibly, “the fact that your sister stayed with me last night, that you have basically not slept in weeks-” Stiles stopped when Derek came forward, cupping Stiles’ face in his hands. 

“Hey, hey. You don’t need to thank me,” Derek said, his thumb moving across Stiles’ cheek slowly. “We want you to be safe, happy.” 

“I am happy,” Stiles supplied. Derek frowned. “Here, right now. That’s all that matters, right? The present.” 

“I don’t want you to have to think like that, like a nap on a couch and a shower is all you can have.” 

“I wasn’t talking about the nap and the shower,” Stiles stammered, tumbling over his words, looking down at his hands, despite the fact that Derek’s hands held his face in place. “I was talking about- about you, just you.” Derek let out a slow breath. “Like, right now-” 

“Stiles,” Derek said, dropping his hands. “I care about you, a lot-”

“Good,” Stiles said, interrupting him. “Good because I care about you too.” Stiles took a step forward, encroaching on Derek’s personal space, leaving inches between them. Tentatively he reached out, his fingers grabbing hold of Derek’s shirt. 

“It’s not safe, Stiles,” Derek urged, but didn’t move. Stiles’ brow creased. 

“Because of Greg?” Stiles asked. Derek nodded, but then shrugged. 

“That too, but I was just... referring to today.” Stiles tilted his head, confused. “Full moon tonight.” Stiles’ eyes widened in understanding. “You- you smell like me right now, and it is overwhelming,” Derek confessed. Stiles gulped, letting out a shaky breath. Stiles closed his eyes as Derek leaned close, his nose barely touching his neck, his arms wrapping around Stiles’ waist, pulling him in for a warm embrace. Stiles relaxed against Derek’s body, his own hands wrapping around Derek, his head falling against Derek’s shoulder as Derek’s face buried itself into the nook of Stiles’ neck and shoulder. They stood there in silence and Stiles couldn’t think of anything else he would rather be doing. He felt safe, felt wanted, felt so happy that he felt emotions bubbling up to the surface. He sniffled, rubbing his nose against Derek’s shoulder. He gasped as he felt Derek’s lips press against his neck tenderly.

“This feels safe, Derek,” Stiles whispered. “This feels like the safest I have ever been.” Derek moaned, his arms tightening around Stiles, his palm cradling Stiles’ head. “Full moon or not.” 

“If something happens to you because of me-”

“It won’t,” Stiles mumbled. “You’re my protector, remember?” Derek laughed, loosening his grip on Stiles. 

They lingered for a moment, just looking at each other, before Derek sighed. 

“You should go check on your mom.” Stiles nodded in agreement. 

“I should, yeah.”

“I don’t work tonight, for obvious reasons.” Stiles laughed, nodding his head. “Stay safe tonight, Stiles. Laura and I can’t-”

“Okay,” Stiles said, understanding. “I know why you can’t be there tonight.” Derek sighed as if he wished there was a way, anyway that he could be. “I’ll just stay at the hospital again, no big deal.” Stiles smiled reassuringly. 

When Stiles arrived at the hospital, his mother was asleep and Greg was nowhere to be seen. He pulled up a chair and sat, resting his head on the back of it, closing his eyes. When he woke up, his mother was flipping through TV channels, looking bored. 

“Hey,” Stiles said, his voice scratchy from sleep. “You could have woken me, you know.”

“You looked so peaceful,” she smiled. Stiles sat up, reaching forward to take her hand. “Did you get any sleep?” She asked. Stiles nodded, his fingers running through his short hair. 

“Yeah, I took a nap at Derek’s-” his eyes widened as his mouth snapped shut. 

“I’m glad you have somewhere to go, Stiles,” she whispered, squeezing his hand. Stiles immediately relaxed. 

“I showered there, too,” Stiles added. 

“Are you staying there tonight?” She asked. Stiles shook his head. “Why not?” 

“He is... working,” Stiles lied, biting his lip. “I’m staying here, with you.” 

“I don’t think that chair is comfortable enough-”

“Mom, I’m staying.” 

Stiles was exhausted by the time Greg came back, after the sun went down. Apparently he had been at work, and was planning on staying the night. He brought a bag with him and everything. Stiles stood up as soon as Greg entered the room. 

“That’s my cue,” Stiles mumbled, leaning over and kissing his mother on the forehead. 

“Where are you going to go?” She asked. Stiles side eyed Greg as he stood, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“Home,” he whispered. Greg grabbed his arm as he walked past, which Stiles yanked away immediately. He wasn’t putting up with this, not now. Not ever again. 

“You better be home, and not out at Scott’s, or Derek’s.” Stiles narrowed his eyes. 

“I said I was going home, so I am.” With one last look at his mom, he left. He walked outside and looked up at the moon, bright and full, and sighed. At least Greg would be here, and not at home when he went there. When Stiles got home he locked the door to his bedroom, something he never did, not once in the history of living in Greg’s house. He crawled into bed, wishing he could call Derek. He knew he couldn’t though, not with the moon still up. He curled up, unable to fall asleep for fear of Greg coming home and breaking his door down. After a few hours, Stiles got up and turned on his computer. He was so awake, so riled up despite being exhausted that he jumped from his chair when he heard a tapping noise at his window. He fell, knocking his chair over as he scrambled towards the window, getting on his knees as he opened it, resting his arms on the sill, his chin on his hands as he looked at Derek. 

“You’re you,” Stiles whispered. Derek smiled, nodding his head. 

“Moon went down, came to check on you.” Stiles grinned, chuckling a bit, hiding his mouth for a second. “Can I come in?” Derek asked. Stiles nodded, backing away from the window. Derek climbed through and Stiles stood up, his arms wrapping around him automatically. 

“I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t go to your place, or Scott’s because I’m not allowed when Mrs. McCall is working, and I locked my door but even though I know he’s at the hospital I just can’t-”

“It’s okay, Stiles,” Derek whispered. Stiles sighed, pressing his face against Derek’s chest, pushing him towards his bed. Derek moved easily, sitting on the edge of it as Stiles stood, his hands gripping tight to Derek’s shirt. “I’m here now.” 

“Don’t leave,” Stiles said, biting his lip. Derek shook his head. 

“I won’t. I’ll hear a car pull up, you’re safe.” Stiles believed him, he believed him with every fiber of his being. Derek’s hand reached up, tugging Stiles closer to him by gripping his hoodie tight. Stiles climbed onto the bed, straddling Derek, his breath catching in his throat. Stiles pressed his forehead against Derek’s, closing his eyes as he cupped Derek’s face. “I’m not scared of him, not really.” Derek nodded, his hands on Stiles’ thighs, palms spread wide. “Because if he touches me again, I’m going to scream for you.”

“And I’ll come,” Derek whispered as Stiles’ lips pressed against his slowly, their mouths closed. Stiles tilted his head, getting a better angle, moving Derek’s head where he wanted it to go as he opened his mouth, his tongue finding Derek’s. They breathed each other in as Derek pulled Stiles closer to him, making Stiles’ breath hitch in his throat. Stiles let a moan escape as he pushed Derek onto his back, leaning his body over Derek’s as they continued kissing. It felt good, his mind stopped reeling, stopping worrying. He was a blank slate, letting his own instincts kick in. Derek seemed content at letting Stiles pick the tempo, control what they did and Stiles took the reigns gladly, his hands trailing from Derek’s face down his arms. So many long conversations, so many nights of falling asleep to the sound of Derek’s voice, never talking about them, never talking about how they felt or the whys and why nots. All Stiles wanted was what was happening, the now, the present. 

He sat up, gasping for air, his hand pressing against Derek’s chest, holding him down. 

“You know what?” Stiles asked. Derek tilted his head to the side, waiting patiently for him to answer. “I thought with a full moon you would have, like, pinned me down or something.” Derek shook his head no. 

“I’m not pinning you down, ever.” Stiles nodded, his fingers deftly playing with the button’s of Derek’s shirt. “You have been through too much, I’m not-”

“Okay, okay,” Stiles whispered, sighing. “Kissing is good, I like kissing.” Derek gave him a small smile, the mood fading, but a spark remained as Derek’s hands slid up and down Stiles’ thighs, reminding him that he cared about him, that it wasn’t about going fast or slow, it was about doing what Stiles wanted to, that he wasn’t going to dictate anything.

“Kissing is good,” Derek mimicked. Stiles laughed, sighing as he rolled off of Derek. 

“It’s late.”

“Very,” Derek mused, looking up at Stiles who was crawling under his covers. Derek moved, joining him. 

“I’m exhausted.” 

“I bet,” Derek whispered as he watched Stiles take off his hoodie, tossing it to the ground. Stiles laid on his back, resting his head against his pillow as Derek nuzzled his neck, his palm resting on Stiles’ chest. “I’m going to stay up, though.” Stiles nodded, his eyes fluttering shut. He felt so comfortable, so invulnerable, protected. He drifted off to sleep within minutes. 

Derek woke up to the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. He had fallen asleep, his arms wrapped around Stiles. He sat up, untangling from Stiles’ body. Stiles groaned, stretching beneath him. Derek didn’t want to wake him, to scare him, but he didn’t have much time. 

“I’ve got to go outside, Stiles,” he whispered. “Greg is home.” At those words, Stiles’ eyes shot open, his hand reaching out for Derek as he stood. 

“No-”

“Stiles, I’ll be outside.” Stiles let go of him, and Derek ached to be back in bed with him, curled around him protectively. The wolf in him wanted it, craved it, didn’t want to leave him there unprotected. He climbed out the window, closed it, then crouched down just in time to hear Stiles’ bedroom door open. Derek heard Stiles mumble something about sleeping, about leaving him alone. Derek was holding his breath, because Stiles sounded like he was baiting Greg, being insolent on purpose. It made Derek’s heart race. 

That was when he heard it, a loud smacking noise and a whimper. Derek growled, his eyes flashing blue. Greg hit Stiles. 

“Stop, stop it!” He heard Stiles yell. He heard shuffling and a crash, as if Stiles was thrashing around, trying to make as much noise as possible. “Help me!” He screamed and Derek shot to his feet, running towards his car, getting out his phone as quickly as possible. 

It rang twice. 

“Derek?” Chris Argent asked. 

“Domestic disturbance at the Morrison’s,” Derek said, opening his trunk. “I came by to check on them, see if they needed anything while Maddie was in the hospital. I heard screaming, and a crash, Chris. Greg is doing something to Stiles, I know it.” The words tumbled out, hopefully making sense. Derek was seeing red, he was so angry. He wanted to kill Greg, he wanted to beat him to a pulp. He needed to save Stiles, he needed Chris to get here. He needed back up. Without back up he would shoot him on the spot.

“How did you hear it? From the door?” Chris asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice. Derek sighed irritably. 

“Chris, I-”

“We’ll talk about this later, I’m on my way, can you wait for me, Derek?” Chris asked, his tone serious. Derek clenched his jaw, closing his eyes so that he would breathe. “I am getting into my car now.” And he was, Derek could hear him rev the engine, turning on the siren. 

“I’ll try.” 

He hung up his phone, grabbing his uniform out of his trunk, putting on his shirt, grabbing his belt, his gun. He ran back to the house, trying to calm down, trying to reign in his anger. It wouldn’t help anything if he wolfed out in front of Chris Argent. It wouldn’t save Stiles. It wouldn’t help him save his job because he knew that Chris would know he was in the house, that he was going to find out about how much Stiles meant to him, the extent of their relationship. That didn’t have anything to do with this though. This was Stiles Stilinski, this was the former sheriff’s son, being beaten into submission by his step father. Derek had to make this stop, it would go no further. This was the end of the line for Greg. 

The minutes were ticking by and Derek could hear the faint noise of the siren, but he could no longer hear anything of Stiles. Derek walked, no, creeped around the house. Stiles told him where Greg took him, told him about what happened in the basement. He stilled by a small window, at the base of the house, bending down, pressing his ear close to it. 

Thwack. 

“Shit, jesus, please just stop-”

Thwack. A muffled cry. Derek shut his eyes, willed himself from turning even though he could feel it in his veins, could feel his blood pumping, his body morphing at the sound of Stiles’ cries. He bolted to the front of the house, practically running into Chris. 

“And?” Chris asked, his hand on his gun while the other was about to press the doorbell. 

“I went around the house, he has him in the basement. He is beating him, I could hear it.”  
Derek’s voice was as restrained as he could make it, he felt the pain of keeping the transition at bay as his body fought against him.

“Derek I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that you were not in this house.” Derek’s gut sank. He bit his lip, he couldn’t lie. He did it over the phone, but he couldn’t do it to Chris’s face. He couldn’t screw up because if he did there could be a chance that Greg could walk. He chose silence. Chris nodded once, sighing as he grit his teeth. 

“Were you in the house, with Stiles, alone with him?” Chris’ tone wasn’t accusatory, it was his job to know. Derek nodded. Chris let out a groan. 

“Not like that, Chris, I swear to god.” 

“You better,” Chris mumbled. “We are discussing this later, in depth.” Derek nodded, his heart about to burst from his chest. 

Chris rang the doorbell, putting his hands on his belt, and waited. Derek thought it felt like hours between Chris’ finger pushing the button and the sound of Greg’s footfalls heading towards them, days before Greg opened the door, smiling at them as if he wasn’t just beating his stepson. Derek strained his ears, hoping to hear Stiles. The door to the basement was shut. Derek’s eyes narrowed. 

“Can I help you, officers?” Greg asked, perspiration across his brow. He smelled like Stiles. Derek wanted to rip him in two. Derek let Chris do the talking, because if he opened his mouth right now he was going to tear the artery in Greg’s neck. 

“We got another call, Greg.” Chris said as a matter of factly. Derek puffed up slightly, filling up more of the doorway. Greg looked to him, then back at Chris. 

“About what, exactly?” Greg asked, feigning innocence. Derek bit back a growl. 

“Yelling, a crash. Is anyone home with you?” Chris asked. Derek sneered as Greg shook his head. Chris looked at Derek in a warning. 

“Isn’t that Stiles’ car?” Derek asked. “Stiles!” He yelled into the house and Greg began to shut the door on them. Chris stopped the door with his foot, pushing it open. 

“Cooperate, Mr. Morrison, or you’ll regret it,” Chris said. Greg tried to shut the door again, slamming it against Chris’ foot. Chris pushed himself inside pulling his gun on Greg. “I am going to ask you one more time: is Stiles home?” Greg was fuming, Derek could tell by his heart rate skyrocketing, his fists clenched at his side as if he was about to pounce. 

“You have no right to come into my home.” 

“That was not an answer,” Chris hissed, taking a step inside. “If I went into your basement, would I find him there?” Chris asked. “Would I?” Greg lunged at Chris, his hands going for his gun. He wasn’t fast enough for Chris, who pistol whipped him, knocking Greg to the ground. Derek stepped forward, dropping to the ground, his knee pressing against Greg’s back, his hands twisting Greg’s arms so that they reached behind his back. 

“Stiles!” Derek yelled. “Come on, let us know where he has you!” Derek knew, he knew Stiles was in the basement. He could hear his heartbeat, slow, steady. He wasn’t conscious. He looked to Chris. “I’ve got to, Chris, I’ve got to go down there.” Chris nodded, reaching over and cuffing Greg. 

“You have the right to remain silent-” Derek heard Chris saying to a cursing Greg as he got off of him, as he made his way to the basement. He opened the door, his mind completely blank as he ran down the steps, his eyes cascading across the room, landing on Stiles. His hands were tied, hanging from the ceiling, his head flung backwards, his body limp, passed out. Derek whimpered, rushing forward, picking him up, taking the weight off of his hands, which were turning shades of red and blue. The circulation was being cut off, Derek could feel the blood pumping, Stiles’ hands throbbing. Stiles didn’t stir as Derek’s fingers grew nails sharp enough to cut him loose. Stiles’ body, once freed, dropped fully into Derek’s grasp. Derek laid him down on the floor, cradling his head. 

“Stiles,” he gasped, cupping his face. “Stiles wake up,” he urged him. “Chris!” Derek yelled. “Chris we need an ambulance,” Derek screamed, his voice shaking. A tear fell onto Stiles’ face. Derek was overwhelmed by the scent of Stiles’ blood. His shirt had been ripped off, his back bloodied from lashings with a belt that was thrown to the side. Greg had used his buckle. Stiles passed out from the pain. Derek groaned, his thumb stroking across Stiles’ lips. Derek heard Chris’ voice come over the handheld, calling for an ambulance. He heard Chris shuffle Greg outside, putting him in the cop car. “Stiles, please wake up.”

Stiles opened his eyes, practically convulsing at the fact that he was being touched. 

“Stiles, it’s me. It’s Derek, it’s okay.” Stiles was crying, he broke down right in front of Derek. 

“I screamed, I screamed for you and he shut the door,” he said through choking sobs. Derek pulled him into his arms, being careful not to touch his back. He cradled Stiles’ head as Stiles rested his cheek against Derek’s shoulder. “He said no one was going to save me.” 

“I heard, I had to call the Sheriff. Greg is being taken to the station.” Derek heard footsteps, he heard Chris approaching. “Stiles, it’s over, it’s all over. He won’t touch you again.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Chris’ voice rang out. Stiles flinched against Derek, his hands were in his lap, numb and throbbing, his face buried against Derek’s chest. Derek held him as best he could, looking up at Chris. “Stiles, can you move, can you walk?” Chris asked. Stiles nodded. He had stopped crying, but the evidence of his turmoil was on Derek’s shirt, wet with Stiles’ tears. “We’re going to... need to take some pictures, Stiles. For evidence. Are you okay with that?” Chris asked. Stiles nodded, his head leaning against Derek’s shoulders, as if defeated. Derek could hear the sirens, could hear the ambulance arrive, along with more back up, a team to take care of Stiles. The wolf in him didn’t want to let him go, didn’t want anyone else to touch him. He knew, though, that Stiles would be taken care of, that he was safe. And that was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank lsdme, Lauren, for being my beta and shoulder to cry on. Thank you to my best friend BK, for answering the phone at one am and listening to me. Thank you to those of you who commented on this fic, without you I wouldn't have finished it and I wouldn't be thinking about my next fic in this fandom. 
> 
> I was ready to give up, not be in this fandom anymore. Thank you to my followers on tumblr who talked me back. Words cannot describe how much that meant to me.


End file.
